


A Slow Fall Towards Grace

by glimmerglanger



Series: slo!au [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Allergic reaction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Childbirth, F/F, F/M, Fic Contains Additional Pairings, Fix-It of Sorts, Listed Here, M/M, Many Not Romantic or One-Sided, Master/Apprentice Relationship (Brief), Miscarriage (Forced), Mpreg, Non-Explicit Mentions of Underage Individuals Having Sex (With Each Other), Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Obi-Wan/Anakin - Complicated, Obi-Wan/Others - Non-romantic, Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon - Complicated, Obi-Wan/Quinlan - One-sided, Obi-Wan/Satine - Romantic, Omega Obi-Wan Kenobi, So Dubcon Related to ABO, mentions of noncon, timeline adjustments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 116,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Obi-Wan never gave much thought at all to being an omega. It hadn’t mattered in the crèche. It should never have mattered at all. Going to the healers the first time he started feeling uncomfortable under his skin hadn’t been a big deal.That had been before the allergic reaction.OR, Obi-Wan grows up, gets his heart broken, fights until he can't anymore, and eventually falls in love. Maybe the galaxy gets saved along the way.
Relationships: Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: slo!au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048817
Comments: 1007
Kudos: 1201
Collections: Digital Bookshelf, Favorite Rereads, Fics I Want to Linger On, I love you so, Jedi-Friendly, Suggested Good Reads, TexWash's Must Reads and Rereads, favourite fics from a galaxy far far away





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally finished the slo (saddest little omega) au! It took so long and involved so much angst, but here we are! Please read the tags and the warnings. I tried to be specific about pairings so as not to make anyone think they were getting something they weren't. Only pairings in the relationship bar are endgame.
> 
> Note that none of the pairings listed are past, though. This starts when Obi-Wan is young. They all play out over the course of the story. All pairings listed are physical. Not all of them are romantic (in fact, most aren't).
> 
> I'll be updating on a Tues/Thurs/Sat schedule until I'm done. The entire thing is finished, thank goodness.
> 
> Note that I did adjust the timeline, primarily as found in the old Jedi Apprentice books. Since these are no longer canon anyway, I don't feel awful about it. I also changed a bit in the Clone Wars, but very slightly.

Obi-Wan never gave much thought at all to being an omega. It hadn’t mattered in the crèche. It should never have mattered at all. Going to the healers the first time he started feeling uncomfortable under his skin hadn’t been a big deal.

He’d even thought the discomfort was something else. He was young, for a first heat. But sometimes that happened. No one could say _exactly_ when a biological process would start. He’d gone to the healers, expecting to come back afterwards a little sleepy from the effects of the suppressants.

Instead, he started feeling… strange after the healers administered the medication. His blood felt itchy before he even made it out of the healers’ rooms. His throat closed, tight, around a noise of surprise, and he reached a hand for the wall, blaring out alarm through the Force.

Healers were at his side immediately. Their voices came from a strange distance, echoing oddly. The words they said made little sense in the moment, anyway, for all that Obi-Wan worked to stay calm, to release his emotional upset into the Force and focus on what was happening.

What was happening was, apparently, some kind of allergic reaction. Staying calm would help, someone told him, and he worked to comply, unable to breathe. Dark started clouding at the edges of his vision as healers lifted him onto a table. Someone yelled for a breathing tube. A needle bit sharply at the inside of his arm.

He was still conscious when they told him to open his jaw and when they started feeding the tube down his throat. He, thankfully, blacked out from lack of oxygen shortly after that.

Obi-Wan woke up achy all over. He felt… tender, close to the way he had after he burned in the sun the previous summer, when even moving left him with stinging little reminders that his skin was damaged. He was in a dim, quiet room, vaguely aware of the soft sound of water and muffled voices.

He was on a bed, he came to realize, shifting. His mouth and jaw ached. His eyes were crusted. He reached up to rub them clear and his wrists caught. He tugged at the bonds, confused, realizing that he wasn’t thinking clearly and unsure why.

“Ah,” a voice said, familiar and kind. Obi-Wan blinked over, his head swimming. A healer - Master Alugin - stood in the doorway. He was very tall and tended to slouch, though that did little to disguise his nearly eight feet of height. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Obi-Wan considered that, the way they’d all been trained to consider such questions. A quick answer helped no one in medical matters. He assessed his condition through the haze of his thoughts and settled on, “Strange.” He shifted, becoming aware of new discomforts with every instant he spent conscious. “I had an allergic reaction?”

Alugin nodded, stepping further into the room. “You did,” he said, stretching a hand out over Obi-Wan’s head, his gaze going distant.

Obi-Wan wetted his lips. The touch felt strange. Tingly. He pushed his fingertips together and they tingled, too. He felt, kind of, the way he had when Quinlan accidentally - he said it was an accident, anyway - grabbed a bottle of dreaming wine and they both drank too much. Except that the dreaming wine hadn’t left him feeling so antsy, like he needed to get out of the bed and go… do something.

“That explains some of the pain,” Obi-Wan said, trying to think through the issue. The Force granted clarity to those who sought it. He wanted some clarity, at that moment, with his heart beating quicker in his chest. “But…” He shifted, sudden discomfort beating through him. He was getting achy in his gut and by his hips. And shifting on the bed made fabric drag across his skin in a way that, abruptly, didn’t feel so bad.

“Master,” he said, and heard the way his voice cracked, hating it, “I think something’s wrong with me.”

Alugin focused a look on him, something tender and near pitying in his eyes. He said, “Nothing is wrong, exactly.” He sighed, reaching down and squeezing Obi-Wan’s hand, briefly. “But you are allergic to the heat suppressants.”

Obi-Wan blinked up at him. He squirmed against the sheets and made himself be still, drawing on the coolness of the Force. “What?”

“We have tried to find a work-around, something that mitigates their negative effects on you, but we cannot keep your body in this state any longer.” He sounded _sorry_ . He sounded soft and concerned. Obi-Wan’s heart beat at his ribs, because he’d barely even _thought_ about a heat, not really.

He was going to take the suppressants, at least for a few years. Everyone at the Temple did. And then, if he wanted, someday he might stop, might think about a child, but that was--

“What’s going to happen?” he asked, throwing himself into the Force, as much as he could, sinking in to the welcome embrace. His voice was steady, at least. His skin may have felt as though it were burning, but he kept his breathing as even as possible. He did not pick at the sheets, or squirm his legs around, ignoring the sensation of wet heat all in his gut.

“That’s what I’m here to discuss with you,” Alugin said, with a gentle smile, and suddenly it made sense that he was the one in the room. Another omega _would_ be the logical choice to hold this conversation.

And the safest. That, too, of course.

Alugin explained, softly and gently, what was to happen. Sometimes he repeated himself. Obi-Wan’s thoughts were scattered and only growing moreso, despite all his efforts at focus. He would be kept in the infirmary, until the condition passed. Safe and away from any of the alphas at the Temple, who might… not understand.

The following days were to be uncomfortable, Obi-Wan was told, but not dangerous. Someone would be around to help him. He was told to expect aches and wants he had likely not previously experienced. He was told to ask any questions he had and his restraints were released.

“There’s nothing else to be done?” Obi-Wan asked, when the explanations all petered out to a stop. He - he wanted things he’d never considered meaningfully before. There’d been classes and instruction, but he’d mostly laughed at the diagrams along with Bant. None of it had seemed _real_ . He hadn’t felt any burn of _want_ when looking at the ancient diagrams used in Temple instruction, but now--

Alugin glanced to the side and sighed. “There is… an additional option, but you are very young. We think it inappropriate, at your age, to… enlist the assistance of either a droid or an alpha.”

Obi-Wan considered that, the idea moving through his thoughts. There was a part of him that ached with swift wants, but it guttered out and died almost immediately at the idea of someone actually - actually doing all those things in the diagrams. His hands clenched in the sheets. His heart raced and he tasted a tang of fear in the back of his thoughts.

“So, we will not be doing that,” Alugin said, all reassurance, and Obi-Wan nodded. “Do you have other questions?”

Obi-Wan only asked to be left alone, just for a while. He sat up and resisted the urge to scrub at his burning eyes. He barely felt the pain of the allergic reaction anymore. The sensations transmitted by his nerves were all tingles and warmth. And between his legs he _ached_.

He folded his legs, ignoring the shaking in his breath and the dizzy drift of his thoughts. They kept spiraling around to Quinlan and he pushed them away. He put his hands on his knees and bowed his head. He’d experienced worse discomforts, he was sure. He closed his eyes, reached for the Force, and tried to stop feeling his body.

#

Obi-Wan burned for three days. It was far from the worst experience he ever had in the infirmary. It was just… uncomfortable. Three days of extreme discomfort as he grew intimately familiar with desires and wants he’d never really considered before.

He mediated, perhaps more than he ever had in his entire life. The Force was a comfort, far more so than the well-meaning healers who brought him food and drink and tried to distract him. One even left a tablet with… clinical instructions about how he might ease some of the aching in his bones.

Obi-Wan ignored it, cheeks and ears burning at even the _thought_. He could never do any of the things listed on the tablet, much less in the healers’ rooms. He would just… just sink into the Force, into his head, away from all the demands of his body. 

He started feeling better on the evening of the third day, becoming gradually aware that his thoughts wandered less. His skin grew cooler, the healers exclaiming happily about it as his body temperature dropped. All the aches he’d gotten used to faded away.

It left him feeling almost gone mad. He felt no different when they released him the next morning. It was like the past three days had never happened, like he was still just himself. Obi-Wan supposed he ought to be grateful about that.

He shook his head. The healers had a year to figure out the suppressants. He was sure they would. They had to. By the following year, he would be someone’s Padawan. He couldn’t very well be out for three days in such a situation. That was far too long to spend holed up in an infirmary, not once he was going on missions with a Master.

He exhaled, releasing the tight knot of anxiety trying to form in his chest, picking it apart. Everything was fine. Everything was back to normal.

The last three days were just something he was going to forget.

#

Except, of course, nothing was that easy. Everyone smelled different, Obi-Wan found, almost immediately. His crèche mates, his friends, they smelled… strange. Unfamiliar. He knew he must smell the same way to them, for they glanced at him oddly, sometimes.

A few of the other omegas - not yet gone through the experience - asked him questions. He answered as best he could, all while knowing none of them would need the advice. The odds that they would be likewise allergic to the suppressants were startlingly low.

And, anyway, that problem would be worked out. Obi-Wan was sure about that. By the time he hit his next heat, everything would be fine. Normal. He’d be picked by a Master. He’d be a Padawan. And he’d be on suppressants that worked.

He would.

#

Obi-Wan shot up in height over the following months, briefly taller than many of the others his age. He felt lanky and awkward in his skin, a sensation he couldn’t ever remember. His body felt strange and his voice cracked and…. It was all terrible, truly.

He spent much of his time either meditating or going through endless katas, trying to get his balance and coordination back. The time spent alone helped settle him. Many of his friends were pleased to give him the space. Only Bant and Quinlan spent any appreciable time around him.

Sometimes he noticed Quinlan watching him, staring without speaking, but there was never anything cruel in the looks. Quinlan usually looked away, in any case, a flush darkening his skin when Obi-Wan caught him. It left Obi-Wan with a strange feeling in his gut, one he tucked away.

That feeling was better than the one Obi-Wan got around Bruck, anyway. Bruck was of his age group, but they’d never gotten along well. Any rapport they might have had disappeared after Obi-Wan’s first heat.

Bruck seemed intent on going out of his way to make Obi-Wan miserable. Obi-Wan bristled at the cruel nicknames he suddenly earned and the sneering looks, always directed his way when no masters were around. So were the jostling and shoves. Bruck was ever in his space, unwelcome and unpleasant.

He smelled strange, too. Different than anyone else Obi-Wan ran into. There was something… warm and thick in his scent. It was always there. The only other person who smelled remotely similar was Quinlan. Obi-Wan didn’t know what any of it meant, and avoided Bruck as much as he could, bristling whenever they came into contact.

He told himself, over and over, that it would all be better, once he was properly on suppressants. Obi-Wan was sure that would happen any day. Any moment. Surely before he was selected as a Padawan.

#

In the end, the healers had not figured out his problem with the suppressants by his thirteenth birthday, but that really didn’t matter. Master Jinn agreed to take him as Padawan, anyway. Eventually. Obi-Wan had truly believed he’d not be chosen, been prepared to adhere to the Order’s directions and go off to Bandomeer….

Farming, Bant had tried to tell him, would not be so bad, truly. 

A near-death experience kept Obi-Wan out of the AgriCorps and placed him at Master Jinn’s side. His new Master did not seem… especially pleased to have him. Obi-Wan felt that, clearly enough, through their nascent training bond.

Master Jinn still yearned for his old apprentice. The man who had tried to kill Obi-Wan. The man who had…

Well. Obi-Wan supposed that only spoke to the depth of affection Master Jinn could feel for a Padawn. He obviously cared deeply about Xanatos. It was obviously possible. That meant it was something about Obi-Wan that prevented such an accord from existing between them.

Obi-Wan did his best to release those thoughts to the Force, curled up in his new bed in his new quarters. He’d been selected by a Master. That was reason enough to be grateful. Just because Master Jinn did not seem to like him very much did not mean he would not be trained well and made a Knight someday.

Plenty of Masters and Padawans shared no affection, only cool instruction.

Obi-Wan curled his arms tighter around his chest, sensing nothing from his training bond with Master Jinn, and squeezed his eyes shut. He willed himself to sleep, still needing to recover from his injuries, and vowed to do better. He could be a good Padawan. Perhaps, if he did well enough, Master Jinn would feel… something for him. 

Anything.

#

Obi-Wan kept telling himself that the healers would have a solution to his suppressant issue. They had to come up with one, now that he was a Padawan. He couldn’t very well spend three days locked up in the Temple. Master Jinn might need his help at any moment. 

He worried, in the depths of the night, about what would happen if he was trapped in the healer’s wing while he was needed. Perhaps that would be enough to make Master Jinn set him aside. Certainly, he had not done enough to ensure his place. Such an inconvenience might end his apprenticeship.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t even be able to blame Master Jinn for such a decision. Other Padawans didn’t require such considerations. It was just _him_ , something wrong with _Obi-Wan_. 

The healers had no good news for him as the day approached. Obi-Wan tracked it with a heavy feeling in his gut, one that weighed him down more and more with each dawn. He and Master Jinn were only rarely at the Temple, in any case. He made his way to the healers’ rooms a few days before the anniversary of his first heat, and knew the answer to the question on his lips by the look on Alugin’s face.

Obi-Wan asked anyway, clearing his throat. “Any luck?”

Alugin gave him a soft smile and led him to the side. He said, “We’re sorry,” and other words that Obi-Wan barely heard. Master Jinn was due to leave again, within the week. They had orders to journey out to a Rim world. Obi-Wan was painfully aware that his heat would overlap with their date of departure, if it took three days to resolve.

He did not doubt, for a moment, that Master Jinn would leave without him. “It’s alright,” Alugin said. “You’ll spend a few days with us, and be back--”

“You said there was another option,” Obi-Wan cut in, his heart beating too fast, sweat beading along his spine. He did not want to be sent to the AgriCorps. He didn’t want to be set aside. He didn’t want the first emotion felt across his bond with Master Jinn to be disappointment.

Alugin blinked and looked pained. “You’re very young,” he said. “Perhaps next year, if we don’t--”

“I’m old enough to be a Padawan.” Obi-Wan knew he should probably stop interrupting, but he couldn’t help it. “I think that means I’m old enough to decide.” He lifted his chin, trying to keep his gaze steady and sure.

Alugin sighed. He looked… sad and unsure. But he said, “I suppose you should at least hear your options. We can easily handle your heat as we did last year, Obi-Wan. But you may also choose a… well. A medical intervention.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I thought the suppressants wouldn’t work for me.”

“Not suppressants.” Alugin took a deep breath and folded his hands together. “A droid could assist you. But many find the procedure invasive. I would not recommend--”

“How long will it take?” Obi-Wan asked, needing to finish the conversation. Master Jinn would be awake soon. Obi-Wan needed to be back in their quarters. He needed to make Master Jinn’s tea, he needed to show that he could be a good Padawan, that he should not be left behind, that--

Alugin gazed at him, concern all over his expression. “A few hours, perhaps. But you must listen to me, it is not required. You may just--”

“I want to do that,” Obi-Wan said, shoving aside any misgivings about the, apparently, invasive nature of the procedure. He could guess at what it might entail. He pushed the thoughts away. It was just a droid. It was just a medical procedure. It was nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” Alugin said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “You don’t have to.” But Alugin didn’t understand. He wasn’t in Obi-Wan’s position. The suppressants worked on him. He wouldn’t be stuck in a room for three days.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “That’s what I want,” he said, around the feeling of his heart in his throat. “Please.” And if his hands shook a bit, when he prepared Master Jinn’s tea, later, then no one was around to see.

#

Obi-Wan’s heat came late. Of course it did. He didn’t start feeling overwarm and sensitive until the day before he was supposed to leave. And so, he supposed, he’d made the right decision setting up the - the _treatment_.

Master Jinn did not comment upon his distraction. In fact, he disappeared from their quarters early in the day. Obi-Wan figured he probably had important things to do. Things he didn’t invite Obi-Wan along for, which… 

Which bolstered Obi-Wan’s resolve as he made his way down to the healers. He focused on inhaling and exhaling, barely hearing the instructions given to him when he arrived. He ended up in a small room, quiet and dimly lit. He was left with a droid, a large, blocky thing that smelled… strange. Warm and sharp. Almost organic.

Almost like Quinlan and Bruck often did.

Something about the smell impacted Obi-Wan differently. His temperature jumped under his robes. His body stirred. Something uneasy and horrifying crawled under his skin. The droid, at least, didn’t move. It wouldn’t, the healers had said. It had very limited functions, all of which he would have to operate manually. For his comfort and safety, they’d said.

Obi-Wan felt nothing like comfort. He half-turned, hand extended back towards the door, because he didn’t want to even think about the cool instructions he’d received, about what he had to do, but--

Master Jinn would be leaving in less than a day. Obi-Wan’s other options left him in the healer’s wing for at least three.

He swallowed. He curled his fingers in against his palms. He tried to breathe deeply and couldn’t, but stepped away from the door anway. He scrubbed a hand across his face, though no one was in the room and there were, thankfully, no recording devices.

“Alright,” he said, to the quiet droid. “Alright, let’s get this over with, then.”

#

The - the procedure was cold and unpleasant, but Obi-Wan did it. He curled his arms around his chest when he finished, when his skin felt cool again. He made sure his robes were straight and orderly and avoided looking at the healers on the way out.

His legs felt wobbly. His insides were cold and achy in strange places. Parts of his body stung. His heart wouldn’t stop racing, not even as he reached his quarters and ducked inside. Master Jinn was not there.

Obi-Wan felt both grateful - he wasn’t sure he could face Master Jinn at that moment - and stung. He’d thought, maybe, that Master Jinn would want to check on him, but… But it was fine, that Master Jinn had not.

He limped his way to the fresher and used the water to take a shower, bypassing the sonic. He scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin, until he felt warm again. He put all his robes back on, afterwards, and crawled into his bed. His head was strange, it seemed quiet and full of terrible noise, all at once.

He lay, staring at the far wall, and did not manage to close his eyes for more than a second.

Eventually, dawn came. He heard the door to the quarters open and pushed aside his blanket, sitting up. He tugged his robes straight. He frowned at his hair, but it was always a mess and could not be tamed, so he left it.

Master Jinn startled when Obi-Wan stepped from his room. He was already wearing a travel robe, a pack in one hand. He said, blinking over, “Obi-Wan. I thought you would be… with the healers.” He took a deep breath, then, and his expression shifted. “Are you not…?”

“It’s taken care of,” Obi-Wan said, his voice seeming to come from far away. “I’m ready for our mission.”

Master Jinn stared at him for a moment and then looked away, jerking his gaze to the side. “I didn’t realize you were…” He started, and trailed off, before clearing his throat. “Very well,” he finished. “We must hurry, we’ll miss the transport.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He grabbed his packed bag, ignoring the tinges of discomfort through his body. The healers had said the effects of the procedure wouldn’t be lasting. He’d recover fully within a day or two. 

And he’d made the right choice. Master Jinn would have left without him. Obi-Wan swallowed, dread at almost having failed filling up his mouth. The threat of such a mistake filled up his head throughout their walk to the transport, and lingered inside his skin throughout the mission.

He’d come so close to losing everything. Too close.

#

Obi-Wan made it through a year of being a Padawan, somehow. Master Jinn still seemed not to like him very much, but that was alright. No one said a Master had to _like_ their Padawan. And Obi-Wan was learning a lot, growing in the Force every day. Master Jinn may have felt little affection for him, they may have spoken rarely, but Obi-Wan tried to be a dutiful student.

They spent time at the Temple rarely. The galaxy was a busy place, apparently in constant need of their aid. When they did visit, Obi-Wan spent most of his time in the gardens. Quinlan and Bant were both with their own Masters; their visits rarely intersected.

He grew closer to other Padawans who happened to be around. He learned more about Luminara; they grew close unexpectedly quickly. He still avoided Bruck; something about Bruck made the hair stand up down the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, even as they both aged.

Obi-Wan avoided _everyone_ when they happened by the Temple close to his next heat. Master Jinn said nothing about it, only disappearing in the days prior to the event. Obi-Wan did not dare ask where he went. He had other concerns, in any case.

The medical procedure was just as cold and unpleasant as he remembered.

He hated it, the small room and the droid and metal against his skin. He didn’t explain any of that, not when Luminara asked. He didn’t even understand why she wondered. She was a beta, she’d never have to worry about such things. And even if she were an omega…

Most omegas in the Order - in the galaxy at large - went on suppressants from the time they went on their first heat. They _stayed_ on suppressants until they found… someone. An alpha, in a lot of cases, but sometimes a beta or another omega. There were hundreds of stories about it, about the romance and the connection and--

And Obi-Wan had been twelve when he had his first heat. He hadn’t been thinking about eventually touching someone else, or having someone else touch him. By fifteen, he was. He was imagining what it might have been like not to have some _mechanical_ thing there, the first time he attempted to soothe the fire in his veins. He imagined what it might have been like to be normal, and he couldn’t tell Luminara any of that, either.

He couldn’t even find a way to order the words in his throat into anything like an explanation. Besides, he was lucky. The procedure was always over in a matter of hours. At least it didn’t last three days. At least he could get back to his apprenticeship.

That was the important thing.

#

By the age of sixteen, Obi-Wan had been through the procedure three times. He didn’t care for it, but it was starting to feel normal. Just a thing he had to do, once a year. He could imagine doing it for the rest of his life, or until he found… someone.

He’d even grown close to Siri - Master Galia’s Padawan - over the past year. She was a beta and she made his heart beat fast, made him want to forget some of the things he’d learned in the Order. He’d thought, maybe she’d want to help him…

That was before she gently decided they were growing too close to one another. She was probably correct, Obi-Wan decided, trying not to hold on to the sting of the rejection. It hurt all the more due to the closeness of his heat, and he knew it. He didn’t want another trip to the healers. He didn’t want another evening with a droid. He didn’t--

He was brooding over the subject in the Room of a Thousand Fountains when Quinlan sank down beside him. It had been months since they’d seen one another, and Quinlan had gotten taller again, but his eyes were still the same, dark and warm when he smiled and said, “I thought you were going to meet Bant and me for dinner.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. He was never very hungry before a heat. After, he’d be famished. He didn’t feel like explaining any of that. Especially not to Quinlan, who smelled, at the moment, very warm and soothing. Obi-Wan felt his cheeks getting hotter and leaned back on his hands. He didn’t mention that, either. He just said, “Sorry, time got away from me, I suppose.”

Quinlan hummed, plucking up a piece of grass and twirling it in his fingers. Obi-Wan watched him, vaguely sure that he shouldn’t. But that didn’t make any sense. They’d been friends forever. He’d watched Quinlan do far stranger things.

He was still watching Quinlan’s fingers when Quinlan said, “You’re going to go to the healers soon.”

Obi-Wan tore his glance away and leaned forward over his knees. The soothing sounds of the fountains receded. He sighed. “Yes.” He shrugged. “But I’ll be free for breakfast in the morning, if you still want to--”

“What if you didn’t,” Quinlan interrupted, and Obi-Wan was suddenly very aware of how close he was, the way his thigh brushed Obi-Wan’s hip and the way they were alone, all by themselves amongst the water and the grasses.

Obi-Wan blinked over at him. “I have to,” he said, his voice seeming to come from far away, “otherwise it’ll be three days, and--”

“It doesn’t have to be a droid,” Quinlan said, his gaze cutting to the side, briefly, before he raised his eyes once more. He leaned over, their shoulders bumping together. “Right? It doesn’t - some _one_ could help you. Couldn’t they?”

Obi-Wan felt half in a dream. He swallowed, hard, sure this was just one more questioning session. He’d been through so many of those. This wasn’t actually _going_ anywhere. Surely not with Quinlan. He was so tall and handsome and - and what would he want with Obi-Wan, who was ever too lanky and too skinny and--

“I suppose,” Obi-Wan said, wetting his lips, for they felt suddenly very dry. “Yes.”

Quinlan held a breath in his chest for a moment. His scent changed in the air around them. Something about it sent a thread of heat down the line of Obi-Wan’s spine. He felt his skin tingle, all over, even before Quinlan shifted, one hand sinking into the soft grass by Obi-Wan’s back, the other coming up to tug, gently, on his Padawan braid.

Quinlan asked, his voice quiet between them, “Would you _like_ someone to help, Obi-Wan?”

All the air in the gardens seemed to have disappeared. Obi-Wan stared, afraid to blink. His gut felt full of liquid heat, blossoming up into his chest. He’d waited too long to go to the infirmary, maybe. Or - or he didn’t know. He tried to think of an answer and could manage nothing but a rasped, “Yes.”

He hadn’t - really - wanted anyone to help him until approximately a click ago. But he’d wished not to go through the procedure again. He’d wanted something like what other omegas got, someone to care, someone to _want_ him, and--

And Quinlan blew out a breath; Obi-Wan felt the puff of it against his cheek. They were so very, very close. Quinlan slid fingers up his braid, thumb brushing along Obi-Wan’s jaw, and instinct had Obi-Wan tipping his face up.

“Force,” Quinlan panted out, eyes wide and all pupils. “You smell so good. I want to kiss you.”

No one had ever kissed him before. No one had ever wanted to. Obi-Wan’s heart felt fit to burst with how fast it was racing. He managed to say, around that feeling, “Yes, please.”

Quinlan brushed a kiss over his mouth, soft, hesitant. Obi-Wan shivered, reaching out and curling fingers into Quinlan’s robes for stability. He made a little sound, one he didn’t recognize, and it drew an answering rumble from Quinlan in the moment before they were kissing, again, properly.

Hot desire drowned out all of Obi-Wan’s other thoughts, erasing every worry from his head. He _wanted_ , suddenly and fiercely, wanted the taste of Quinlan’s mouth and the feel of his hands and, even, the sensation of crushed grasses under his back, Quinlan’s weight sprawled over him.

It was only the sound of still-distant voices that dragged Obi-Wan back into his head. He startled, his hands roaming across Quinlan’s shoulders, and blinked. Quinlan had a hand under his robes, already, fingers so warm against Obi-Wan’s stomach. They were sprawled out beside one of the fountains, and Quinlan was making hungry sounds against his throat.

Obi-Wan shoved at his shoulder, blinking away some of the haze from his thoughts, and said, “We can’t stay here.”

Quinlan made a disagreeable noise, teeth scraping over skin, and Obi-Wan temporarily forgot what was going on, but--

But he’d been through this four times, already. He was used to the haziness around his brain. He pushed on Quinlan again, harder, and said, “Come on, we can’t stay here. We can…” The solution came to him in a flash of inspiration. “My quarters. We can go there. Master Jinn won’t be back for at least a day.”

Quinlan growled, briefly, but then nodded. He rolled to his feet, pulling Obi-Wan along. He said, his voice different than Obi-Wan had ever heard it, lower, “Good idea, Obi-Wan.” And they all but ran through the halls, ignoring the occasional questioning looks they got, Quinlan murmuring something he barely caught about having already taken care of things with the healers, getting protection.

Obi-Wan got a half-second to be nervous when the door to his quarters shut behind him. He could still go to the healers. Still visit the hated droid. He didn’t have to-- Quinlan kissed him again, deep and radiating such shocked wonder into the Force that it stole away all of Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

Quinlan was all want and desire and joy, arms holding Obi-Wan close, and Obi-Wan melted against him. He discovered that Quinlan didn’t really know what to do - he’d never been with an omega before - but that was alright. Obi-Wan knew, basically, how things were supposed to work. And it was different - better - with another person, better with Quinlan looking up at him, eyes huge and dark, hands at Obi-Wan’s hips, fingers flexing restlessly, his chest heaving as though they were sparring, instead of…. Well.

It was better, that was all. Obi-Wan had never felt… good, afterwards, before. Never had someone warm to curl up beside, to stroke the line of his spine, leaving shivers behind in his skin. 

“That was…” Quinlan said, after a while, one of his arms slung around Obi-Wan, keeping him close. Obi-Wan held his breath, waiting. After his first heat, he’d had nothing pleasant to say. After the first four, really, and-- “Amazing,” Quinlan finished, sounding half-stunned.

Obi-Wan hid an unplanned smile against Quinlan’s shoulder, delight unfurling fast and heady inside of him. He asked, feeling heat in his cheeks, “Was it?”

Quinlan groaned, nodding and rolling, all at once. His weight felt nice, settled all across Obi-Wan’s body. It felt natural to shift a leg, to pull up a knee, letting Quinlan press close to all the different parts of his body. “Yes,” Quinlan rasped. “Could we? Again? Or?”

Obi-Wan felt a bit achy, already. Quinlan wasn’t built quite like the droid. The process was different. But he was still warm under his skin, too. The heat hadn’t faded, not the way it usually did. Perhaps, he thought, because of all the alpha hormones still swirling through the air. 

He breathed deep, happy and warm all over, curled arms around Quinlan’s neck, and said, “Yes.”

#

They crawled from the bed, eventually. The sun had risen at some point over the busy Coruscant skyline. Obi-Wan stood at the window, basking in the warmth of it and feeling good inside his bones. He’d never felt like that after a heat, so warm and tingly.

“We should meet Bant for breakfast,” he said, when Quinlan came out of the fresher. The air in the room still smelled like them, but he hoped that would fade before Master Jinn returned. Maybe it would dissipate more quickly if they weren’t there. Besides, he was very hungry.

Quinlan nodded, but made no effort to head towards the door. He approached Obi-Wan, instead, ducking his head to brush a kiss across Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what kissing outside of a heat would feel like. 

It felt… just as nice, he found. He hummed, leaning into Quinlan, and they passed longer than they should have, just exchanging soft kisses. The rumbling of his stomach got them out of the door, eventually, Quinlan teasing him about it as they walked through the halls.

Bant took one look at them, when they finally reached the mess, and went wide-eyed. She pulled Obi-Wan down into his chair, blurting, “What did you do?”

Obi-Wan felt a blush staining his cheeks and his tongue knotting in his mouth. Fortunately, Quinlan was sinking down into the other chair, grinning. He said, “We just made sure Obi-Wan didn’t have to visit the healers, that’s all.” He bumped his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s.

Bant looked back and forth between them, her emotions all a ball in the Force, before they settled. She leaned a little closer, and asked, in a whisper, “What was it like?”

Quinlan shook his head. He said, around a grin, “You’ll have to find out for yourself.” And Obi-Wan felt… joyful. Relieved. He’d worried, upon waking, that everything would go wrong somehow, fall apart. But it hadn’t.

Quinlan was happy about what they’d done. He still wanted Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan relaxed, focusing more on his hunger than his worries. He’d been worried, only days ago, that he’d spend the rest of his life with a _droid_. But now he had Quinlan. He’d found an alpha and, suddenly, the future didn’t seem so grim.

He smiled around a bite of food, hooked his feet around the rungs of the chair, and still felt bubbly later that day, when he returned to his quarters. Master Jinn had all the windows open, when Obi-Wan got back and walked with his shoulders stiff. Some of Obi-Wan’s joy faded as he braced for a chiding.

But Qui-Gon did not berate him. He only said, “Were you harmed?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, not feigning not to know what Qui-Gon spoke about.

Master Jinn nodded, still not looking at Obi-Wan. His expression was tense, stiff, but Obi-Wan was used to that. “Good,” he said, and that seemed to be that. Obi-Wan tried to shake off the strange, tense emotions bleeding across their bond.

He didn’t know what they meant. He’d never felt enough of Master Jinn’s emotions to get a clear read on them. They shared a quiet evening meal, and Obi-Wan did not breathe deeply until he escaped to his quarters to meditate.

#

Obi-Wan and Master Jinn stayed only in the Temple for a few more days. Obi-Wan spent much of the time with Quinlan, unthinking about it. They’d always spent much of their time together. And if Bant and Luminara hid smiles behind their hands, sometimes, well. That was alright, too.

Obi-Wan enjoyed the feel of Quinlan’s fingers tangled with his. He liked glancing up from meditating to find Quinlan watching him, something warm in his gaze. He took joy in the soft brush of Quinlan’s mouth against his.

He had not… thought of Quinlan in such a way, before. He’d not thought much about anyone in such a way, besides Siri. But she had been safe, not an alpha. Alphas had always left him feeling unsettled, reminding him too much of medical procedures and his allergy.

It turned out they weren’t so bad, Obi-Wan supposed. And there was a heady relief to knowing that, the following year, Quinlan would be there for him. Obi-Wan would never have to take himself down to the infirmary again.

He nearly died on the mission that followed, trapped in a slowly shrinking room without his lightsaber, but such risks to his physical well-being had become the norm. Besides, Master Jinn managed to pull him out before he was crushed, and Quinlan had left him a message over the comm system.

The first few years of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship had been… difficult, but he smiled, settling into his bunk carefully, mindful of the injuries scattered across his body. Things had changed. Finally. He shut his eyes and pulled the Force closer, relieved.

#

Quinlan’s messages got further apart, as the year dragged onward. It was funny, Obi-Wan didn’t really notice that until afterwards. They were both so busy, after all. He spared little concern until after his seventeenth birthday, until after they were both back on Coruscant, his heat a present and growing concern.

He went to find Quinlan, the morning he woke up feeling too warm under his skin, so relieved that he would not have to return to the healers, and with a sweet ache in his blood, because it had felt so good, the previous year, and he’d been looking forward to it, in a strange way. He’d never looked _forward_ to a heat before.

All of that joy dissolved when he finally found Quinlan, when Quinlan looked to the side and said, “I can’t.”

Obi-Wan blinked, trying to make sense of the senseless statement. He’d already visited the healers to take… precautions. At least he wasn’t allergic to _those_. He asked, “What? Of course you can, we--”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said, one arm curled around his chest, his gaze still on the far wall. “I wanted to, but Master Tholme forbade it. My Master said…” He rubbed at his arm. “Said that I risked too much attachment. That I wasn’t ready to - to help an omega like that.”

“But,” Obi-Wan said, feeling strangely dizzy. The conversation felt like a terrible dream. “Last year, it didn’t - you were fine, you--”

Quinlan shook his head, once, sharply. “I wasn’t,” he said, his tone gone thick. “I wasn’t. I thought about you all the time.” He shivered, his eyes closing. “I still think about you all the time. Master Tholme is helping me, but I… can’t. I’m sorry. I know I should have told you earlier.” He looked up, then, his eyes reflecting hurt and conflict. “Please, can you forgive me?”

Obi-Wan’s heart beat unsteadily in his chest. Alphas were supposed to _want_ an omega, after the first heat. Alphas certainly didn’t turn down omegas about to go into _heat_ . They were supposed to - to stick together. That was how it _happened_.

Just not for Obi-Wan, he supposed.

He swallowed, feeling the tangled emotions moving across Quinlan through the Force. He blinked, trying to get rid of the sting in his eyes before it turned to tears. He nodded and cleared his throat and said, turning, “Of course. I understand.”

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said, sounding as though it had been wrenched from his throat. He started to reach out, and Obi-Wan jerked away from his touch, shoulders curling forward against his will. “I….” 

Obi-Wan waited for the end of that sentence. It never came. He twisted his mouth up in the corners; he could not call the expression a smile, and nodded again. He took a step back and then another, and said, “Goodbye, Quinlan.”

He walked blindly through the Temple. He should head to the healers, he knew that. He’d spend some time with the droid, everything would be fine. It wasn’t like it was anything he hadn’t done before. But he didn’t _want_ to touch cold metal. Maybe it would be better to just go through the three days of discomfort, alone, wanted by no one. He didn’t want--

Passing Bruck in a rarely used corridor in one of the Temple’s upper levels was pure chance. They had not spoken, really spoken, to one another in years. The ill feelings between them perhaps still lingered, but they’d long since stopped coming to blows, even in training. Most of Bruck’s irritation had long since been redirected towards Quinlan, who returned it in equal measure.

Bruck still took the opportunity to scowl at Obi-Wan, to walk unnecessary in the middle of the corridor, so their shoulders bumped as he passed, eyes dark and narrowed, his scent sharp and thick. And until last year, Obi-Wan had not realized what that meant. Until Quinlan leaned close and kissed him, Obi-Wan had not _known_ the way _want_ filled his senses.

His heart stuttered along inside his ribs even as he jerked to a stop, staring at Bruck, who _also_ stopped. “What?” Bruck demanded, tilting his jaw up, a muscle jumping in his cheek even as he drew in a deep breath. Scenting, Obi-Wan realized. He watched color stain into Bruck’s cheeks, watched his eyes grow darker.

Obi-Wan hurt, inside his chest. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He wanted not to be thinking or feeling at all. He wanted the white noise in his head to go away, he wanted not to go to the healers, he wanted--

He said, “Watch where you’re going,” and the words felt like they came from someone far away. 

Bruck bristled. He drew his spine straight and snapped, “Just because you’re clumsy doesn’t mean--”

“Clumsy?” Obi-Wan snapped, all his emotions too close to the surface, and he should have gone to meditate. He should have, but it was too late for that, now. Too late for him to do anything but scowl up into Bruck’s infuriating face. “I’m not clumsy, you shoved me.”

“That wasn’t a shove,” Bruck growled back, and Obi-Wan barked a laugh and him, the noise changing to something else when Bruck reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and pushed him back a step. His shoulders hit the wall. “ _That’s_ a shove,” Bruck said, hand still on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan could no longer distinguish the individual beats of his heart. It raced along, way too fast. He felt…hot all over; his hips ached. His breath caught in the back of his throat and his gut ached when Bruck suddenly blinked, jerking his gaze away.

“You should get down to the infirmary,” Bruck said, shaking his head, but he kept his hand where it was. “Get some help with…” He took another deep breath and a flush spread up his throat.

“I don’t need to go to the infirmary,” Obi-Wan said, the noise inside his head an angry buzz.

Bruck snorted, as though he hadn’t also curled his fingers into Obi-Wan’s robes. “Yes, you do. You need whatever droid it is they use to--”

Obi-Wan reached out and grabbed the front of his robes, hauled him forward and kissing Bruck was nothing like kissing Quinlan. There was nothing soft or hesitant about it, nothing sweet. Teeth caught at his bottom lip. He tasted blood on his tongue. He didn’t _care_.

“Why?” he demanded, a moment later, reaching his other hand down, grabbing the hardness he found waiting for his touch. “You’re an alpha, aren’t you?”

Bruck’s breath panted against his mouth. His eyes looked wild. He said, “Yeah, I’m--”

“Prove it,” Obi-Wan snapped back, and Bruck growled at him, fingers suddenly in Obi-Wan’s hair, tilting his face up and the kiss that followed left Obi-Wan’s jaw aching. Nothing that followed was like it had been with Quinlan, starting with the fact that they never made it to a bedroom. A storage area proved private enough for their needs.

Obi-Wan’s cheek ended up pressed to the wall, Bruck’s hands at his hips, his breath panting hot all over Obi-Wan’s shoulders and throat. That was fine. Obi-Wan didn’t want to see his face, anyway, squeezing his eyes shut and scrambling his hands against the wall, wanting rid of the heat and the noise in his head and the hurt in his chest and--

And at least Bruck got rid of one of the three.

Afterwards, Bruck looked vaguely stunned as he stood there, straightening his robes with hands that trembled a little. He had not removed his clothes, merely pushed them out of the way. Obi-Wan put his breeches back into order, damp and uncomfortable in too many places to mention.

They didn’t look at one another. They didn’t speak. The room smelled like sex, and Obi-Wan hoped that the smell disipated quickly, before anyone else had to visit the space. He scrubbed at his face, frowning at the damp smears left behind on the arm of his robe, and Bruck said, “I--Obi-Wan. I don’t know what to say.”

Obi-Wan sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes, hoping to get rid of the clumping of his eyelashes. He said, “You don’t have to say anything.”

He felt Bruck’s discomfort through the Force. He’d never been able to feel _anything_ from Bruck so clearly. Obviously, Bruck needed to watch his shields. “If I hurt you--”

“You didn’t,” Obi-Wan said, looking in his direction, but not meeting his eyes.

“You cried,” Bruck blurted, into the space between them, his hands both balled into fists. “I--”

“I was--it wasn’t you,” Obi-Wan said, the stinging behind his eyes coming back. “You were fine.”

Bruck said nothing for a long, long moment, and then jerked out a nod. “Fine,” he said, his voice nothing but flat tension. “Whatever.”

Obi-Wan said nothing else. He couldn’t imagine what else needed to be said between them. They’d never liked one another. There seemed little chance that they ever would. He stepped out of the storage room first, turned without caring about direction, and walked.

He only wanted a fresher.He ended up on a balcony overlooking the city, instead, folding his legs and sinking down.

#

Quinlan and Bruck came to blows the next day, in the mess hall. Obi-Wan didn’t know what started it; he’d decided to eat by himself, still sore and achy from the previous evening. He didn’t move to break them up, he didn’t have the energy for it, watching others pull them apart.

He only picked up his tray, the food half-eaten, and headed for the door. He wasn’t hungry, anyway.

He heard, as he stepped out of the mess hall, Bruck’s voice, sharp with anger as he snapped, “--your loss, Vos, don’t blame me for having what--”

The door shut before Obi-Wan heard anymore, thankfully. He blinked rapidly, moving through the Temple. He avoided the Room of a Thousand Fountains; there were memories there he didn’t want to revisit. He went to the meditation rooms, instead, sinking down. He only managed to meditate for a little while, before Bant found him. He felt her hesitate in the doorway, but only for a second, before she drifted over and settled beside him.

“You missed an ugly fight,” she said, after a moment.

“I saw the first part,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Quinlan and Bruck fight before.

Bant sighed. She drew her knees up and curled her arms around her legs. “So,” she said, picking at an imaginary spot on her robe. “Bruck, huh?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, tilting his face up to the weak sun overhead. “Why not,” he said, shrugging. “No danger of attachment there.”

Bant made a soft sound. She leaned over, abruptly, resting her shoulder against Obi-Wan’s. She said, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, because at least he hadn’t had to go to the healers. At least it was over for another year. At least this year, he was under no delusions that someone would be waiting for him next time. He knew exactly what to expect from Bruck. She put her head on his shoulder and said nothing else; they merely sat together, her hand curling over his.

Master Qui-Gon returned that evening, from wherever he went while Obi-Wan was in heat. He took a few cautious breaths inside their quarters, and Obi-Wan saw his shoulders relax at the normalcy of the smells.

“The Council has a mission for us,” he said, by way of greeting. Obi-Wan nodded, moving to prepare him a cup of tea. The easy task settled some of the noise in his head, though he still felt like he was drifting. “They’d like us to leave tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said, bringing him the cup. Master Jinn took the cup carefully, fingers always far away from Obi-Wan’s. Distant. Everyone wanted more distance from Obi-Wan, he supposed. He wondered what it was about him that prompted such a response and if there was not some way he could change it.

Master Jinn looked down at the tea for a moment and then said, “We can delay, if you require time to recover.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. He sank down into his chair, his own tea cooling to one side. “I’m ready to leave.”

Maybe he needed some distance, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for chapter two! Mind the tags, this is one of the darker chapters in the entire work (First Major Tragedy contained within). As an aside, in addition to being sad this is an explicit fic starting with this chapter.

Obi-Wan dreaded the thought of returning to the Temple. The dread hadn’t dissipated by his eighteenth birthday, which he spent off-world. Bant promised him a party when he got back - he’d missed the last three, she said - and he tried to demur. The idea of running into either Quinlan or Bruck haunted his thoughts. He did his best to release the anxiety, concentrating on picking apart the threads of it that tangled around his heart. He proved… perhaps not entirely successful, but he tried.

They ended up back at the Temple a month after his birthday, well before his heat, and Bant was, perhaps, as bad as her word. She’d gathered all of his friends who happened to be planet-side, dragging them out for a crawl through some of the lower levels.

Obi-Wan tried to enjoy himself, tried to smile, taking the drinks pressed into his hands and sipping at them. He’d even begun to relax by the time a familiar presence in the Force moved towards him. He sighed, resisting the urge to grimace as Quinlan leaned up beside him at the bar.

“What are you drinking?” Quinlan asked, tone light, a smile on his face.

“I don’t recall, actually,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. Whatever it was, it tasted foul. He looked around for Bant, but she’d made herself scarce. 

“Oh,” Quinlan said, smile wavering for a moment before he rallied. “Well, I’ll get you something you’ll remember. And then, I thought…” He looked to the side, gesturing to a bartender who was definitely ignoring them, “maybe we could talk.”

Obi-Wan considered that idea and found it had little appeal. Bant had said that Quinlan and Bruck were still at odds, though they’d both been lectured by their masters. She’d only given him an odd look when he asked what it was they kept fighting  _ about _ .

He shook that thought away and worked to formulate a reply. He was relieved when it turned out he didn’t need to. Bant shoved her way over, then, tugging on his robes to tell him that she’d received a message for him from the Temple, from Master Jinn, requesting his immediate presence.

“Another time,” Obi-Wan said, flashing Quinlan a smile that he hoped didn’t look flat as he turned away, heading through the dark streets, back to the Temple.

It was a strange evening that only grew stranger when he got home, shrugging off his hood as he moved through the halls. Things were quiet, only a few Jedi moving about so late in the day. He’d almost reached his quarters - Master Jinn had requested his presence - when a figure peeled away from the wall, calling his name.

He tensed to see Bruck, wishing he hadn’t drank so much, wishing Bant had come back with him, wishing--

Bruck stopped a few feet away and, abruptly, shoved something towards him. It took Obi-Wan a beat to realize it was some kind of box. “Hello,” he said, since they’d not even exchanged a greeting. “What’s this?”

Bruck grimaced, a bit, looking to the side and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Your birthday wasn’t long ago,” he said, like an explanation. “Are you going to take it, or just stand there?”

Obi-Wan frowned at him, but took the box, expecting it to - potentially - explode in his hands. It was heavier than he’d expected and he said, “I don’t--this is for me?”

Bruck jerked out a nod, coloring, suddenly, across his cheeks. “You used to like that kind of thing,” he said, before he turned and marched with stiff legs down the hall. Obi-Wan watched him go, shook his head, and stepped into his room, the box under his arm.

He didn’t open it until they were already on a transport the next morning - apparently they’d been called away on yet  _ another  _ mission - and when he did he stared down, unsure what to do. There was… a book inside. A slim tome. It appeared to be, when he opened it, a little book of poetry.

There was no explanation for it. He shut the lid again, after a moment, and set it aside, not sure what to think of it. The strange present made him feel uneasy all over again, rekindling the anxiety about his heat, about ending up back on Coruscant, having to see those who didn’t want him anymore, even if they were  _ sorry  _ about it, and--

He took a breath, trying to force away the anxiety rising in his chest.

He succeeded about as well as he ever did.

#

In the end, it mattered little that he didn’t succeed in resolving his anxieties. They didn’t end up back on Coruscant for his heat. They were nowhere close to a Core world at all, in reality. He and Master Jinn were stuck on Thulviol VII, hunted through a tremendous, sprawling city by members of the strange hive-mind that had taken over much of the ruling class of the moon, controlling more and more people each day.

Obi-Wan tracked the days as they slipped away, moving from one location to the next, restlessly. He shoved down the anxiety in his gut when the date of their planned departure passed. He worked not to consider his condition as he grew warmer under his skin, more distracted.

They didn’t know who to trust on Thulviol VII. They didn’t know  _ anyone _ , really, but he could not imagine staying in one place and hiding for three days. He couldn’t ask Master Jinn to slow down for so long. They’d both end up dead.

He hoped, vaguely, that the anxiety and stress might delay his heat. Such things happened. Reproductive systems sometimes adjusted to poor conditions.

Just… not his, apparently.

He just got warmer and achier, as much as he tried to pull on the Force and resist the heat inside his skin. None of his efforts were successful. He only realized  _ how  _ unsuccessful they were when they had a run-in with a group of controlled guards and one of them paused in the midst of trying to kill Obi-Wan, long enough to attempt to rut against him.

Master Jinn threw the woman off, grabbed him, and they fled, but the feeling of her touch did not fade. It remained, even as they scrambled into another bolthole, sealing the door at their backs and getting the space, temporarily, to breathe.

Obi-Wan stood in the damp, small room, and shivered. The room smelled of mildew and oil; those scents should have proved overwhelming, but they didn’t. He inhaled Master Jinn’s scent with each breath and was suddenly, painfully, aware that his Master was an alpha and…

And Master Jinn always avoided him, in the days leading up to a heat. Always. Obi-Wan curled arms around his chest, knowing he was already  _ in  _ his heat, and trying to figure out what to do. He managed, putting his back against the wall, trying to only sip at the air, “You should go on. I’ll catch up with you. In a few days.”

Master Jinn said nothing. He was roaming around the small space, his shoulders up and his face turned always away. He bent and picked up a small stool, only to toss it away a moment later. He smelled… warm. Sharp.

Just like want.

Obi-Wan swallowed, looking to the side and biting his bottom lip. Alphas just got like that. It wasn’t - it meant nothing, not really. Master Jinn had never been anything but  _ gone  _ during a heat. He obviously wanted space. Obi-Wan pushed away from the wall. It couldn’t possibly be  _ that  _ difficult to find an alpha. There had to be some that weren’t taken by the hive mind. He could go and return in a few hours. “Master, I’ll go and--”

“You will  _ not _ ,” Master Jinn said, his voice lower than Obi-Wan was used to hearing. A shiver climbed down Obi-Wan’s spine, hitting each vertebrae on the way to his hips. He wetted his lips and flexed his hands in and out.

“Master, I’m…” He gestured at himself, though Master Jinn was not looking at him. 

“We’ll find a way off-world,” Master Jinn said, scowling at the wall. “We’ll go now.” And just like that, they were off again, right into another fight, right into another desperate sprint, right into another set of anonymous rooms, even deeper in the bowels of the city.

Obi-Wan felt barely able to concentrate, as Master Jinn blocked the door behind them. He was breathing too fast and he knew it. His fingers tingled. He ached all over and his skin felt so warm that it took all his control to keep his clothes where they were.

He shook his head, grappling for concentration, for  _ anything  _ to diminish the need in his blood. He found something like what he was looking for when he glanced over at Master Jinn. His gaze kept returning to his Master, no matter how he tried to stop it. Master Jinn was pacing again, back and forth, back and forth, all restless movement and a shock of red at his shoulder.

“Master,” Obi-Wan said, stepping towards him without thinking, sudden alarm in his head. “You’ve been hurt.”

The room was small. It only took a few steps to reach Master Jinn. Obi-Wan reached out to him without thought, a hand on his shoulder, focus on the wound hidden below his robes. He plucked at the front of Master Jinn’s robes and made it no further than that, not before Master Jinn grabbed his wrist, squeezing as he rasped, “Don’t.”

Obi-Wan looked up into his expression, a protest on his lips, and froze. Master Jinn was looking at him - really looking at him - and his eyes were dark, all pupil. His expression was tense, but it shifted when his gaze dropped, down towards Obi-Wan’s mouth. 

Obi-Wan’s breath caught oddly in the back of his throat. He said, quietly, “I need to see to the wound.”

“It’ll keep,” Master Jinn said, as though someone had not put a blaster bolt through him. His hand stayed around Obi-Wan’s wrist; his hand was so large. Obi-Wan tugged against his hold and got nowhere. Master Jinn sucked in a little breath and then jerked his head to the side, releasing Obi-Wan and stepping back.

Obi-Wan slumped back against the wall, his heart pounding against his ribs. He reached for the Force, for clarity, and barely found any. He said, quietly, “They’re tracking us.”

“Yes,” Master Jinn said, resuming his pacing. Obi-Wan tracked him by the sound of his footfalls, rubbing his hands together, closing his eyes.

He said, when Master Jinn made no effort to continue, “They’re tracking  _ me _ .” Master Jinn’s footsteps hesitated, just for a moment. Obi-Wan swallowed. “They’ve got at least one alpha. They’ll be able to find me. While I’m….like this.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, ignoring the burn, ignoring the frustration; everything would be so much easier if he had  _ suppressants _ . “So, so you have to go.” His throat tried to close and he fought it. “They might not even kill me. They probably won’t.” They’d want to do other things to him, he thought, with a sick, awful feeling in his gut. “You can free me from the hive mind later, and--”

“I’m not going to leave you to them,” Master Jinn cut in, something like anger moving across their connection, sudden and sharp enough that Obi-Wan snapped his head up. He never felt things so clearly from Master Jinn. He’d long ago accepted that, decided that perhaps he was just unable to do so, a weakness and failing of his, but--

But he’d felt  _ anger _ . It lingered around them. He said, tilting his head to the side, “But, Master--”

Master Qui-Gon visibly reacted to his voice, turning towards the nearest wall and placing both hands against it, dropping his head between his arms, breathing raggedly. Obi-Wan watched him, feeling as though he’d suddenly gone completely still inside. He finished, carefully, “We can’t avoid them for two more days. Not while I’m… like this.”

“No,” Master Jinn said, his voice a rumble. “We can’t.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “So, I’ll stay here and you should--”

“I’m going to help you,” Master Jinn said, tone firm and set, even as he pushed away from the wall. Obi-Wan stopped breathing, only watching as Master Jinn turned to face him. His tongue felt stuck to the top of his mouth. He could only stare, feeling his pulse all against his skin, as Master Jinn took one step towards him and then another.

He-- He’d never truly considered such a thing. Master Jinn seemed disgusted with him around his heats. Master Jinn always left, left for days, staying well away from him. He drew close, in that small room, so much taller that Obi-Wan had to tilt his face up, still unable to find his voice.

Master Jinn swallowed, so loudly that Obi-Wan heard it. He said, his voice ragged, “This is the only way,” and reached a hand out, haltingly, to drag the pads of his fingers back over Obi-Wan’s cheek.

The touch sparked a burst of hot want in Obi-Wan’s gut. He made a sound, involuntarily, turning into the touch. He’d wanted to be touched for so long, struggled through almost a day of the heat, and it was such a sweet relief. One he shouldn’t have needed. He tried to control himself, forcing out, “I’m sorry, I’m--”

“No,” Master Jinn rumbled in his chest, hand fitting against Obi-Wan’s jaw - he was so  _ big  _ \- and leaning down. “ _ I’m  _ sorry, my Padawan.” His other hand pressed to the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His beard rasped against Obi-Wan’s cheek, only briefly, before Obi-Wan turned without thinking, seeking out his mouth.

He’d never thought about kissing his Master, before it happened, never imagined the brush of a beard against his skin, or the feel of Master Jinn’s hair through his fingers. Maybe Master Jinn hadn’t, either, because Obi-Wan  _ felt  _ the jolt of his surprise, moving between them openly through the Force.

And he felt, past that surprise, heady want, a tangled expanse of it, filling up all the available space in the room. It flowed into his mind, a rush of it through their bond and - oh, oh he  _ could  _ feel things from Master Jinn. Their connection  _ was  _ there, strong and sure and --

And Obi-Wan clung to him, relief and confusion mingling alongside the want in his head. He couldn’t disentangle them, didn’t even know where to begin as Master Jinn kissed him, kissed him hard and deep, so different from either Quinlan or Bruck.

Neither of them had tilted Obi-Wan’s head just so, neither had pressed him against the wall, blocking out the entire rest of the galaxy. He held on, gasping and shivering, groaning when Master Jinn pulled at his tunics. 

They were uncareful with where their clothes fell. Obi-Wan’s fingers were clumsy and half-useless. He kept getting distracted, finding himself grabbing at Master Jinn’s shoulders or arms when he should have been getting fabric out of the way. Master Jinn seemed not to mind, no, Obi-Wan  _ knew  _ he didn’t mind.

He  _ felt  _ so much want, it was - was overwhelming. Master Jinn had ever seemed… cool to him. There only to teach him, but Obi-Wan knew he cared, knew he--

Obi-Wan’s thoughts scattered, driven from his mind by the slide of hands over his body, the pressure of Master Jinn’s mouth. He pressed into the touches, sighed and groaned, helpless to keep the sounds inside his throat. He curled his arms around Master Jinn’s neck and held on when he was lifted, shifted, and laid down across a cloak on the ground.

Master Jinn’s bare skin caught flickers of the dim light around the room. His body was all muscle and marks of past battles. Blood slicked his shoulder, smeared across his chest and arm, but he seemed not to care. He seemed not even to notice the pain of it, his gaze ever on Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan dragged fingers across his shoulders, down his chest, gripped at the shifting muscles of his arms. His skin tingled - stung - when Master Jinn’s beard rasped against it. He gasped into Master Jinn’s mouth, at the first press of a touch inside of him, his spine lighting up.

It felt  _ good _ , but he should have expected that. Even with Bruck, there’d been… pleasure of the physical sort. And Master Jinn was  _ better  _ at this than Bruck had been, than Quinlan has been. He moved his hand, down between Obi-Wan’s legs, and Obi-Wan’s head snapped back, pleasure cutting through him, tearing sounds out of his chest.

“Master,” he gasped, half pleading, and Master Jinn buried his face against Obi-Wan’s throat, making an answering, strangled sound.

There were emotions in his head that he couldn’t identify, not in that dim room, not with Master Jinn taking up all the space in the world. Obi-Wan had  _ thought  _ he knew what he was doing during a heat. He’d mostly guided the efforts of Quinlan and Bruck, but there was no guiding Master Jinn. He didn’t  _ need  _ guidance, swallowing all the noises Obi-Wan made, systematically stripping away all of Obi-Wan’s control.

The sensations swept Obi-Wan away, carrying him along until he realized that he’d reached the very edge of his control, without even a hand touching his cock. It could go like that, during a heat. He blinked, still gripping at Master Jinn, gulping at the air, worried - all at once - about losing the last scrap of his control, about spilling all over his stomach, about what Master Jinn would think--

Master Jinn groaned, the sound caught between them. He shifted up; his hand had been braced by Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He lifted it, brushing his palm clean on his side, reaching for Obi-Wan’s cock as he crooked his fingers inside. Obi-Wan choked on nothing, panting a warning, “Master, I’ll--”

“Yes,” Master Jinn rumbled, large hands  _ everywhere _ , and Obi-Wan had no more resistances to put up. He dug his fingers into the cloak, into Master Jinn’s forearm, holding on tight until the echoing pulse of pleasure started to fade away. He felt… loose all over. Full of bright, warm light, singing along each nerve.

It made him more aware of the ache inside him. He shivered, though he felt too warm, when Master Jinn shifted again. “What?” Obi-Wan managed to murmur, confused, when Master Jinn put a hand on his hip, tugging at him. 

“You must…” Master Jinn cleared his throat. It did little to change the thickness of his voice. “This will be easier for you if you turn over.” He tugged again, enough force behind the movement that Obi-Wan rolled with his hands.

The feel of the floor under his knees was strange. He realized, hazily, that he was kneeling on Master Jinn’s cloak. He was making a mess all over it. His sweat had left marks behind and the spend on his stomach had slid to the side, leaving behind a smear. 

The position left him feeling strange. Vulnerable. He clenched his fingers into the cloak, a protest in his throat. He’d never-- 

Master Jinn’s hands felt gigantic at his hips, thumbs stroking at Obi-Wan’s spine. “I’m sorry,” he said, again, and Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder, wondering what had prompted the apology. Master Jinn’s hair stuck to his face, to his bare shoulders, to the blood on his skin. “I’ll go as slowly as I can.”

“I don’t--” Obi-Wan started and stopped, all comprehension of what he might have said driven from his mind. 

“Try to relax,” Master Jinn said, his voice echoing oddly, or maybe it was just hard to hear him through the blood pounding in Obi-Wan’s ears. Obi-Wan had a moment to realize that there was  _ no possible way  _ that they’d fit together, no way he could accommodate Master Jinn, not the way he’d done for Quinlan or Bruck, it just wouldn’t--

“Breathe,” Master Jinn advised, voice thick, shifting one of his hands, rubbing Obi-Wan’s back. “Breathe, that’s it.” Obi-Wan gulped at the air; it felt burning hot in his lungs. Master Jinn’s palm was warm and firm on his back, moving in easy strokes. “Reach out to the Force.” Obi-Wan  _ tried _ . It was hard to know if he managed or not. There were so many emotions all around him, so much want and hunger and need.

Perhaps soaking in the want and hunger did enough. It blossomed new heat through him, in any case, and he groaned, tension draining out of muscles with each beat of his heart. His arms felt weak. He gave up holding himself up on them, sliding to his elbows. The change in position dragged a noise from Master Jinn, his hips shifted, he pushed  _ deeper _ and--

And it was uncomfortable, but some part of it was good, too. The slide  _ in  _ satisfied something deep inside Obi-Wan’s blood and bones. He gasped, head falling down between his arms, listening vaguely to soothing murmurs, feeling gentling touches on his skin, and always, always, aware of the push  _ in _ .

He felt shivery by the time Master Jinn stopped. Everything else in the world had gone away. Master Jinn’s hands were at his hips again, clenching and unclenching. He could hear Master Jinn’s ragged breathing, but all of that paled in comparison to the  _ emotions _ .

The connection between them had ever been tightly controlled. Barely anything had ever gotten through. Whatever control Master Jinn had exerted over it seemed to have slipped his grasp. Obi-Wan  _ felt  _ how much Master Jinn wanted what they were doing, the deep satisfaction inside of him. 

It filled up his head, speeding along with each beat of his heart, distracting him as the heat inside his gut grew and spread. His body wanted - needed - to move, and he shifted a bit, squirming, really. Master Jinn’s fingers tightened. He breathed out; the words sounded like a curse, and rocked forwards and back.

Obi-Wan turned his face against his arm, panting, feeling the movement through each inch of his body. It was nearly too much, but they’d - they’d come so far. And Master Jinn  _ burned  _ for him. Wanted him. Wanted this.

Obi-Wan sank into his head, into the Force and the bond moving between them. Sometimes he could not quite breathe, sometimes he could do little but wind his fingers into the cloak and hold on, Master Jinn moving behind him, slow at first but faster with each moment slipping away, more surely. Deeper. Harder.

He drove sounds from Obi-Wan’s throat with each thrust forward, as though his body could not hold both Master Jinn  _ and  _ the breath in his lungs. Each sensation hung on the edge of being too much, even as his blood raced, even as his cock grew hard once more. 

Master Jinn did not reach around his hip. He did not need to. Obi-Wan’s nerves sang, his body tripping over the edge into release the first time he felt Master Jinn’s knot swelling, catching at the edge of his body. He cried out, far too loud for their current situation, half-worried that Master Jinn would try to pull out with the knot swelling, and--

And he did not. He pushed forward, instead, settling deep, his hands  _ squeezing _ . Obi-Wan knew that it wasn’t possible to actually  _ feel  _ an alpha’s relief, but he imagined he could, anyway. He felt the knot, in any case, felt stretched almost beyond his limits, almost so much he couldn’t breathe, body shaking from his release.

“Sh, sh,” Master Jinn said, curling over him. He wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan’s chest, and pulled him gently up. Another cry escaped Obi-Wan’s mouth as the knot shifted inside him, but then he was leaning back against Master Jinn’s chest and… and it was better, the knot settled well inside, letting him breathe a little deeper.

“I’m sorry,” Master Jinn said, the third time, resting his cheek against Obi-Wan’s head, pulling the cloak up and around them. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.” He stroked his hand down Obi-Wan’s chest, palm moving in a slow, soothing circle.

Obi-Wan leaned his head back against Master Jinn’s shoulder. He felt exhausted. He said, shutting his eyes, just for a moment, “It’s alright, Master.” He felt Master Jinn shiver, felt the way his emotions shifted through their bond, but Obi-Wan hadn’t had time to decipher their meanings. Not yet.

He didn’t have any time that night.

#

They ended up making it off-planet almost three weeks later. They left behind them the ruin of the hive mind and a population taking the first steps to recovery. They did not speak of the night they’d spent… together, but Obi-Wan remembered each moment with the clarity of the highest quality holo.

He remembered the warmth of Master Jinn’s skin, the feeling of his hands, the  _ emotions _ .

Their bond had shuttered a bit, afterwards. But such a connection could not be closed completely once established. Obi-Wan caught snatches of Master Jinn’s emotions. It helped, as they fought their way through the hive mind. It was not only want he picked up, after all.

He was… surprised to find that the want remained. He sensed it, moving between them sometimes, unspoken. It was ever accompanied by something else, something that left Obi-Wan’s throat tight and his eyes stinging, though he couldn’t identify the emotion.

All he really knew was that he felt it when Master Jinn looked at him. He felt it more keenly than ever on their trip back to Coruscant, when he lurched to wakefulness one morning, scrambling to the fresher and emptying the contents of his stomach. He felt terribly nauseous, which was strange. He did not  _ usually  _ get space sick.

When he stepped out of the fresher, Master Jinn was sitting on his bunk, expression still and calm, his hands resting on his thighs. “I’m sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan said, still feeling queasy. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Master Jinn closed his eyes, turning his face to the side. He said, his tone quiet and even, “You should visit the healers when we arrive at the Temple.”

Obi-Wan frowned. The strange, tight feeling in his throat was coming from Master Jinn, he was almost sure. He just didn’t know what it meant. He grabbed his tunics - any additional sleep seemed like a lost cause - and said, “I’m sure it was just something I ate.”

“It’s not,” Master Jinn said, softly. He curled his fingers in against his palms and stood. “We will  _ both  _ go to the healers.” He moved for the door, the tangle of his emotions briefly felt through their connection.

“Where are you going?” Obi-Wan asked, pulling on his over-tunic, wishing his stomach would settle.

“To make you some tea,” Master Jinn said, stepping through the door. “To ease your stomach.” 

Obi-Wan blinked after him. Master Jinn only ever made tea when he was very concerned. Just knowing that left the worries inside Obi-Wan grow. He tried to release them, unhelped by the nausea in his gut.

At least the tea helped. He cradled it in both hands, tasting mint and ginger, inhaling the steam rising off of the cup and trying to sift through all of Master Jinn’s emotions.

#

Master Jinn insisted, again, that they visit the healers upon their return to the Temple. He even ignored a summons from the Council, but that was not, truly, unusual behavior for Obi-Wan’s Master. Obi-Wan pushed aside the concern grown in his chest from Master Jinn’s behavior, his stomach vaguely queasy again as they stepped through the doors.

They were attended to, shortly, by Master Hulies, a Twi’lek with orange skin that reminded Obi-Wan of the sunset. She smiled gently as she led them to one side, arching an eyebrow when she said, “Well, I don’t see any  _ terrible  _ injuries. Not internal damage again, I hope, Master Jinn?”

Master Jinn’s expression did something strange. It was almost a flinch. He said, pitching his voice low even though they were all but alone, “My apprentice had a heat while we were off-world.”

Master Hulies blinked, her gaze shifting to Obi-Wan. He managed a smile in return. He’d long ago grown used to discussing his reproductive cycle with healers in the Temple. She asked, still looking at Obi-Wan, “And something went--”

“And we had no access to contraceptives,” Master Jinn cut in, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robes, his expression calm, but Obi-Wan  _ felt  _ the shifting of his emotions, pushing out against the edges of his control. Obi-Wan turned to stare up at him, a wash of cold moving over his skin.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, because he should have thought earlier-- But he’d -- It just hadn’t seemed relevant. There’d been so much going on. The nausea was surely only a stomach bug. 

“It’s alright,” Master Hulies said, softly. She put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm. “We’ll run a few tests.”

Obi-Wan nodded, barely remembering to give some kind of response. He swallowed, his stomach tying into knots, and sat through all the tests she wanted to perform. He expected, truly, for Master Jinn to disappear at any moment. He remained, silent and stoic, throughout the assessment.

He was still there when Master Hulies delivered - ha - the news. She said, her voice coming from far away, “You should rest, Padawan Kenobi. We can discuss your options more later, after you’ve slept.”

Obi-Wan made a vague, affirmative sound. It was the best he could muster. He’d known, academically, that pregnancy was a likely outcome of a heat. Omegas were immensely fertile, a trade off for only becoming so once a year. Contraceptives  _ worked _ \- he’d obviously not gotten pregnant before - but without them…

He should have been prepared. He should have known something was going on. It was his own body, the fact that Master Jinn had noticed first showed that he was not paying enough attention to the Force. He was--

His thoughts cut off when the door to their quarters opened. He didn’t even remember walking through the Temple. Master Jinn’s hand rested on his back, guiding him along and through the door. Movement within the room startled Obi-Wan, he blinked up at Master Windu, rising from their couch.

“Qui-Gon,” Master Windu said, his expression still as the undisturbed surface of a lake. “Obi-Wan. I trust you are well.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He’d forgotten how to speak around the tightness in his throat. “We are only fatigued,” Master Jinn said, for him, his voice a familiar rumble. “Some rest--”

“Not  _ only  _ fatigued,” Master Windu said, an edge of sharpness to his voice. Obi-Wan flinched, looking to the side, and Master Windu sighed. “Get some rest, Padawan. Qui-Gon, you are needed before the Council.”

And Obi-Wan wanted to protest. He was supposed to be at Master Jinn’s side during Council meetings. It was his duty. But he was tired, tired in a way that felt like it had nothing to do with the weariness of muscle and bone. He barely registered it when they left. He should go to his room, but he did not make it.

He curled up on the couch, instead, drawing his knees up towards his chest and staring at the pattern on the cushions. His heart raced in his chest, even though he wasn’t doing anything. He felt each surge of his pulse, listening to his own shaky breathing, remembering - only slowly - to reach out to the Force.

#

The Force granted Obi-Wan the peace he needed to get back to thinking. He made himself a meal. He ate. He took a shower, lingering under the hot water for longer than he should have done. He stood before the mirror, afterwards, and looked at his body.

He looked… the same way he always had. A bit on the scrawny side, perhaps, but his arms and legs no longer seemed as awkward. He had the same pale skin, the same muscle overlaid across bone. There were always a few fading injuries on his skin; that was usual for everyone in the Order.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on his stomach, shivering. The skin there was flat. But he could feel eddies in the Force, already, swirling in a nexus around him. He’d been around enough other pregnant Jedi to recognize it, now that he knew what he was looking for. A pregnancy. Master Jinn’s child.

Inside of him.

He blinked rapidly, turning away and grabbing a robe, working to keep his breathing even. He sank to the floor in this bedroom, in front of the window overlooking the city. He folded his legs, seeking communion with the Force for - for comfort. For stability. For peace.

Master Jinn had not returned by the time Obi-Wan’s thoughts felt orderly again. He ate another meal, read over some news they’d missed while they were off-world, and slid beneath his sheets. He laid with his head on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling, and eventually, somehow, he slept.

#

Master Jinn was there when Obi-Wan woke up. He had breakfast prepared, simple foods and bland. They did not upset Obi-Wan’s stomach, so he offered only thanks, sipping at the mint tea by his plate.

Master Jinn felt… wound tight. He tensed further when Obi-Wan asked, finally, “What did the Council need?”

Master Jinn set down his own cup of tea. He placed his hands on the table and flexed his fingers in. He said, “They had questions about the last mission. Concerns. About many things. They wish to speak with you this morning.”

Obi-Wan pushed crumbs around on his plate with the Force, absent and unthinking. He said, “Are we going now?”

“ _ You  _ are going,” Master Jinn said, standing and lifting their plates, moving to the sink. “I am staying here.”

Something about the set of his shoulders stopped up any other questions in Obi-Wan’s throat. He finished his tea and rose, straightening his robes. He was almost out of the door when Master Jinn said, quietly, “You will be fine, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan carried the weight of his words all the way to the Council chamber. It seemed strange, to be standing there without Master Jinn at his side. The Masters looked at him and he felt the weight of their consideration all across his shoulders, pushing down from above. But he had the Force, keeping his knees steady and his back straight. He inclined his head, and said, “Masters. Good morning.”

They returned the greeting, and the pleasantries felt almost painful to Obi-Wan. He wanted to know what they needed, right away, but that was hardly appropriate. He shoved aside impatience, and, fortunately, did not have to wait long.

The Council, it seemed, wanted to ask him about his apprenticeship. They had so many questions. It felt endless. He answered them all as best he could, though some of them dealt with times so long ago he barely recalled what had occurred. So many dealt with Master Jinn: things he had said, things he had done, things he had felt.

Sometimes they exchanged looks with one another. Obi-Wan had no idea if he were providing the right answers or if he were saying everything wrong. He asked, after what felt like hours of questioning, “Masters, may I ask what this is about?”

That got a look exchanged between Masters Windu and Ti. It was Master Shaak Ti who answered, something gentle in her fierce countenance. “We are assessing your training, Padawan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan blinked. It had not felt as though they were assessing  _ him _ . He shivered, worried, all at once, that he really had done something wrong. He clung to the Force. “What about my training?” he asked, half-dreading the answer.

Master Ti looked towards Master Yoda. Obi-Wan followed her gaze. The small Master had frowned throughout the entirety of their session. “Determine whether you will remain with Master Jinn, we must,” he said, unhappiness moving around him through the Force. They  _ all  _ felt unhappy, Obi-Wan realized. 

He wanted to demand more answers, to find out why they would consider no longer training him, but Master Koon asked him a question and dragged his attention away. It almost felt like coming out of hyperspace wrong when they finally dismissed him. He left the Council chamber unsure about what would happen next.

He went back to his quarters, afterwards. He didn’t really want to go anywhere else. Master Jinn was not there. Obi-Wan made himself a cup of tea. He meditated.

# 

It felt like everyone had questions for him, in the days that followed. It started with Bant, who came to check on him after he spent another day in his quarters. She felt concerned when she arrived, halfway through asking if he were alright when her huge eyes shifted down, all at once. She stopped speaking, staring at him, and finally blurted, “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling dry and distant, “it’s me.”

She looked back into his eyes, no sign of amusement in her expression. “You’re…” She waved one slim hand. “That’s--are you--?”

“I am,” he said, sparing her the effort to find the words. 

She stared for another moment and then asked, “Does Quinlan know?”

Quinlan did not know. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why he’d  _ care _ , but he evidently did, when they met in the mess hall later. Bant had dragged Obi-Wan there, insisting that he couldn’t stay in his quarters forever. Quinlan stiffened almost as soon as he saw Obi-Wan - as soon as he  _ scented  _ Obi-Wan - and he left, stiffly and without a word, his food still on his plate.

Obi-Wan picked his way through his own meal, barely listening to Bant’s attempts at conversation. “What are you going to do?” she asked, when they finally ended up in quiet privacy once more. She was worrying at her hands, emotions uneasy. Obi-Wan shrugged. He kept waiting for someone to tell him what he  _ ought  _ to do. So far, no one had.

#

Obi-Wan ended up back at the healers. They wanted to ask him questions, too. Many of them focused on his health, both physically and mentally, on his connection to the Force, on any concerns he may have had about his condition.

The questions all wrapped around to  _ what he wanted _ . Obi-Wan had no answers for them. He had no answers for anyone. He needed, he realized, more information before he made any kind of choice.

It took effort to track down Master Jinn. He’d all but disappeared. But Obi-Wan felt their connection, now. It remained, a tie that bound them together. He used it to find Master Jinn, in a far area of the Temple, mediating alone in a dimly lit room.

Obi-Wan hesitated in the doorway. Master Jinn sat so still he barely seemed to be breathing. The Force moved around him, through the room. Obi-Wan considered that he might not be wanted, that perhaps Master Jinn had come here to be away from him, that--

Master Jinn shifted, turning his head over his shoulder, and said, “Obi-Wan.”

“Master,” he said, sliding his boots off and leaving them by the door. “I… wanted to speak with you.”

Master Jinn did not move for a moment. Finally, he sighed, nodding and rising to his feet. He grabbed his tunic as he stood, pulling it on. He said, quietly, “What did you want to speak about, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan wetted his lips. He’d wanted this conversation to happen, but that seemed difficult to remember. He said, “I’ve been thinking. About… what to do.” His options weighed on his mind nearly every waking moment. There were really only the two. He could - could have the child. Any child of two Force-users would likely be Force sensitive as well. The child would almost certainly stay at the Temple. Many others did. They could grow up as Obi-Wan had, in the tender care of a crèche master.

Obi-Wan considered a child, wondered what they would look like. Many Jedi visited their children in the crèche semi-regularly. He thought of coming back from a mission, going back to the residential area of the Temple, and--

“And have you come to a decision?” Master Jinn asked, gaze over on the far wall, tone carefully modulated. Obi-Wan would not have been able to tell if he cared one way or another a few weeks ago. 

That was  _ before _ . Feelings escaped Master Jinn’s control, in that room. Obi-Wan caught them, felt a sharp pang in the center of his chest. Yearning. He felt also that tightness in his throat, the emotion he still could not identify.

“I think so,” Obi-Wan said, and swallowed. He had not been sure, at all, before. He did not have to have the child. The healers had made that clear. He was young - young enough that it concerned them - but physically able to bear the child safely. Still. They said others in his situation had chosen not to; the choice lay before him.

But. But Master Jinn had always been… if not displeased with him, then perhaps disappointed. Obi-Wan had never done enough to facilitate a bond. He’d never felt… fully accepted. But - but Master Jinn had  _ wanted  _ him, back in that little room.

That want remained. Obi-Wan caught whispers of it, murmurs of the Force that were muted, but not beyond his ability to pick them up. Across from him, Master Jinn braced, only for a moment before he relaxed once more. He said, “And what will you do?”

Obi-Wan wetted his lips. He said, listening to his pulse pounding in his ears, “I’ll have the child.”

He felt Master Jinn’s response, regardless of how quickly Master Jinn worked to release it into the Force. There was something fierce there, something that left Obi-Wan’s chest aching, something that made his stomach feel strange and warm. He pulled his hands up, inside his sleeves, focusing on ensuring his breathing did not change as he weathered the storm of it.

Master Jinn nodded. He said, “Very well,” and sounded  _ almost  _ normal.

Obi-Wan had expected to feel better, after making a decision. But his heart kept racing, unpleasantly fast. He felt queasy again, but that wasn’t rare anymore. He said, trying to fumble his way forward, “Will I - will you still - my training--”

“Will continue,” Master Jinn said, gaze snapping around, a small frown on his face. He took a step forward and then another, hands lifting, coming to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “You are… my Padawan,” he said, sure as the Force itself.

Obi-Wan exhaled, punchy relief in his gut, and nodded. He felt the smile on his mouth - too wide - and said, “Alright.”

#

The world kept spinning after Obi-Wan decided to have the child. Things flowed onwards, the majority of the galaxy completely unaffected by his decision. The Council felt… strange, when Obi-Wan met with them next. He had arrived early for their summons and over heard snatches of a strange conversation between Masters Jinn and Windu, listening as his Master said, “--seen it many times since--”

And Master Windu interrupted, “Do not cite visions as an excuse for--” his voice loud enough to carry through the doorways, before he modulated his tone.

Obi-Wan heard nothing more, but the Council chambers vibrated with tension when they finally called upon him to enter. Master Jinn only nodded at him, gesturing him forward. Obi-Wan stood beside him, gut clenched hard as rock, and listened to the Council approve his continued apprenticeship.

“However,” Master Ti said, while Obi-Wan was swimming in relief, “future interactions will be monitored closely, Qui-Gon.” The sharpness in her tone cut, but Obi-Wan barely had the chance to glance at her before the meeting was over.

“What now?” Obi-Wan managed to ask, outside of the chamber, pulse racing and carrying relief out through his blood veins. He glanced up at Master Jinn, carefully, resisting the urge to worry at his robes.

Master Jinn looked at him, emotions swelling and quickly pushed down. “Now,” he said, “we have work to do.”

#

Little changed, really. Most of the observable parts of Obi-Wan’s life stayed the same. He continued to accompany Master Jinn on missions. He continued to train in his katas, to practice mediation, to learn more about the Force.

The sickness that plagued him faded within two months, leaving his stomach settled once more. Other strange effects replaced it. He ached in odd places, particularly around his hips. He stared at his stomach, often, in the mirror.

The first time he noticed a curve to it left him frozen in place. It had been months since his heat. He ran a hand over the faint swell and shivered, grabbing his tunics. It remained invisible while he was dressed, but there was no way to conceal his condition, at least not to Jedi.

Even he felt the shift in the Force around him. 

His relationship with Master Jinn shifted, as well. Outwardly, their instruction continued much the same. Feeling some of Master Jinn’s emotions changed much beneath the surface. Obi-Wan felt a kick of relief each time he sensed approval, or the warmth of what he felt certain was affection.

He picked up want, too, sometimes. He’d never forget what  _ that _ felt like, not after his last heat. Electricity would trickle down his spine while they were practicing a new lightsaber form, or after he stepped from the fresher, or while they shared a meal, and he always found Master Jinn’s gaze on him, when he looked up.

He felt the want, but did nothing about it. He didn’t… know rightly what to do about it. He’d never done anything with anyone outside of a heat. He could not help wondering at the fact that Master Jinn still felt such desires. There was something pleasing about the knowledge, even if Obi-Wan did not… feel quite the same way.

Their coupling had felt like too much to him, at the time. He still recalled the uncomfortable stretch, the feeling that he might split in half. He had not… enjoyed that, entirely, though he knew Master Jinn had not intended to hurt him. 

He felt many other things from Master Jinn, in any case. Including the odd emotion that left his throat tight and his eyes burning. He still knew not what to call it. There seemed to be no good way to ask about it. Obi-Wan did his best to sort such thoughts to order, to focus on his training, to not grow over-distracted by the changes to his body. Some days he did a better job than others. 

#

Obi-Wan’s tunics no longer disguised the swell of his stomach by the first time he felt the child move. They were on their way to a diplomatic mission, something simple, and he’d been fixing a cup of tea when the shift happened, a feeling of movement  _ inside  _ his body, deep and visceral.

He dropped the tea cup, caught it with the Force, and reached out a hand for the counter. “What’s wrong?” Master Jinn demanded, though Obi-Wan felt sure he had not made a sound. He heard Master Jinn stand, heard him cross their small quarters on the ship. “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan pressed his other hand up against his stomach, half-sure he’d imagined, but--

But the sensation repeated, a stir within his body, not quite like anything he’d felt before. He stood, breathing shakily, until Master Jinn took his shoulders and bodily turned him. Master Jinn felt concerned, the emotion sharp and acidic. “Obi-Wan,” he repeated, “are you--”

“The child moves,” Obi-Wan said, and laughed, the noise burbling helplessly from his throat.

Master Jinn blinked at him and rasped, voice suddenly hoarse, “What?”

Obi-Wan grabbed one of his wrists, without thinking, tugging down. Master Jinn’s hand felt huge on his stomach, his fingers fanning out. He stepped closer, adjusting the angle of his touch, and Obi-Wan guided his palm a little lower. “Here,” he said, “do you--”

Master Jinn made a soft, gutted sound. He said, “Yes,” his emotions all warm and sweet. He curled his other arm around Obi-Wan’s back, and they were nearly embracing, Obi-Wan’s tea cup still bobbing beside them. Master Jinn cleared his throat and said, quietly, “I dreamed of her.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, blinking up at him.

Qui-Gon nodded, gaze going distant and tense. He cleared his throat. “I have, several times, since I first saw you,” he said. “I dream of a girl with pale hair tinged copper, all in curls around her face, and hazel eyes. I’ve seen her as a strong warrior. Standing against some great darkness…” He stroked his thumb, back and forth, and Obi-Wan tried to picture a  _ daughter _ .

Obi-Wan exhaled, full of swelling emotions, and leaned, cautiously, into Master Jinn’s chest. They had not touched, really, not since his heat. They’d never touched much. But this seemed… allowed. And he - he found he craved the physical comfort.

It was nice, being held. Nice, feeling Master Jinn’s hand on his stomach, knowing Master Jinn felt their child moving. Obi-Wan had not been without doubts over the past months, but-- but he had made the right decision, he thought, daring to lean his head against Master Jinn’s shoulder.

He would bear the child. He could feel how much it pleased Master Jinn, even if his Master never spoke of it. Obi-Wan felt his want, all deep and hot. Obi-Wan would have the child and be spared his next heat, likely, because of the pregnancy and---

And when his heats returned, he’d have what other omegas got. An alpha who wanted him, not one who discarded him after a single heat. He’d started to worry there was something wrong with him, but maybe Quinlan had just been too young, not grown-up enough.

Master Jinn was  _ very  _ grown-up. 

Obi-Wan felt a little kick of unease, thinking of sharing future heats with his Master. But surely he would grow used to - to it. After having a child, Master Jinn’s cock would hardly seem intimidating, he supposed, barking a single laugh at the train of his thoughts.

“What amuses you, Obi-Wan?” Master Jinn asked, voice quiet, for they were so close to one another.

“It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan said, daring to cover Master Jinn’s hand with his own. “I enjoy that you are happy.”

Master Jinn went still against him, just for a moment. And then he relaxed once more, stroking a thumb across Obi-Wan’s tunic. “I am happy,” he said, sounding almost confused, and Obi-Wan laughed, again. His Master was happy. There’d been so many times throughout their partnership when Obi-Wan had been sure that would never happen.

That  _ he’d  _ made Master Jinn happy spread warmth through him. He smiled, setting aside his nerves about the future. Everything would be fine.

#

Their simple diplomatic mission turned out to be anything but. Obi-Wan couldn’t even marshal surprise. The conference they were supposed to attend was little more than a ruse. A trap, designed to draw them in and close around them.

Well, Obi-Wan considered, as his arms were dragged behind his back, wrists bound roughly together, the trap had not really been designed for  _ them _ . The target was Master Jinn. Obi-Wan knew it as soon as he felt Xanatos’ Force signature.

Obi-Wan glared up as he felt Xanatos moving closer. He’d become separated from Master Jinn when explosions started going off. He’d been herding civilians to safety when something had hit him in the back of the head.

He’d awoken to strange hands, tugging on him without care and pressing a blaster against the side of his head. Xanatos came through the door smiling, that razor-blade smile of his. He looked Obi-Wan up and down, and something in his emotions flared out, sharp and stinging in the space of the room. “Get him up,” Xanatos snapped. “Let me see him.”

The guards pulled Obi-Wan up to his knees, their fingers digging into his shoulders. He twisted his arms, the bonds digging into his skin, and held on to the burn of adrenaline in his veins. “It’s not going to work,” Obi-Wan panted. “Whatever you’ve got planned, we’ll--”

The blow across his mouth wasn’t much of a surprise. Xanatos always seemed to take offense to the things Obi-Wan said. Obi-Wan swallowed the taste of blood, trying to ignore the ricochet beating of his heart, the - the  _ fear _ .

He reached for the Force, desperately, tugging at his bond with Master Jinn.

“Well, well,” Xanatos said, tone sharp. He slid his fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair, gripping cruel and tight. “Look at you. I suppose I finally understand why  _ he  _ accepted  _ you _ as Padawan.” He put his other hand on Obi-Wan’s chest, slid his palm  _ down.  _ “You may have no aptitude in the Force, but I suppose you’ve made up for that in… other ways.”

Obi-Wan thrashed, panic burning all at once in the back of his throat. The weight of Xanatos’ hand over his stomach was horrifying. He said, voice going tight and high, “Please, whatever you’re thinking--”

“I planned to kill him, you know,” Xanatos cut in, his eyes close and blazing. He was still smiling, madness in the broken edges of the expression. He dragged his hand back and forth, back and forth across Obi-Wan’s stomach. “I’ve planned to kill him for so long, for everything he did. I’ve been thwarted at every turn. I was beginning to despair.”

Obi-Wan stared up at him, twisting against the implacable hands at his shoulders. He just needed to keep Xanatos talking. That was all. Master Jinn would come. Everything would be fine. “Please,” he said, hoping to prompt a reaction, but Xanatos ignored him. “Just let me go, I’ll--”

“I see now,” Xanatos said, tugging on his hair, tilting his head back at a painful angle. “That the Force was looking out for me. Killing him would have only ended his suffering. It would have been a kindness.” His smile broadened, terribly. He pushed his hand against Obi-Wan’s stomach, fingers squeezing like claws. “This is far better.”

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan gasped out, pulling against too many hands. The pain was awful and sudden. Blinding. But that alone should not have caused such agony. It was - it was whatever Xanatos was doing with the Force - he was - “Please, please, no, please--”

“Did you beg for him, too, just like this?” Xanatos asked, close, impossibly so, his breath against Obi-Wan’s ear as he  _ tore  _ at things with the Force, inside. “Did you beg him to put a child in you? You  _ do  _ plead prettily, I suppose. I bet you spread your thighs like some--”

Things  _ ripped,  _ in the deep places of Obi-Wan’s body. Obi-Wan would have screamed, but his throat clenched shut. He could not breathe. He could not think. He reached for the Force and could not find it, trapped within his skin, feeling things - things inside of him, movement and twisting and--

The pain was immense, but for a moment Obi-Wan did not even feel it. It was blotted out, totally and completely, by a sudden change in the Force. A dispersal. A feeling of warmth going cold, all at once, and--

“Let him go,” Xanatos said, his voice thick and pleased. Obi-Wan made no effort to gentle his collapse. The ground came up to catch him, pain blossoming at his shoulder and hip. He barely felt it. It was nothing but a shadow compared to the agony in his stomach, anyway, to the flood of hot and wet down the inside of his thighs.

Bleeding, he thought, vaguely. He was bleeding. Hemorrhaging. “Send my old Master my regards,” Xanatos said, his voice coming from ever so far away. He felt so pleased, through the Force. Delighted. Obi-Wan turned his face, trying to look up at him, trying to - to do anything. Xanatos beamed at him. “If you are still alive when he finds you, tell him I consider my revenge satisfied.”

Obi-Wan tugged at the bonds around his arms, but he felt… dizzy. He couldn’t feel his fingers. It had been hot on the moon but all heat was fleeing him, leaving him freezing. He needed to get free of the bonds. He needed to stop Xanatos. He needed to… to just shut his eyes. Just for a moment, just for--

#

Pain woke Obi-Wan up again, jerking him from the emptiness of unconsciousness. He snapped his eyes open with a cry already in his throat, vaguely aware of hands on him, moving him. He tried to shove them away - he didn’t want anyone to touch him, ever again - and Master Jinn said, “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, stop.”

Master Jinn swam into focus as Obi-Wan tried to blink his eyes clear. He’d… fallen beside Obi-Wan on the ground, shining strangely bright in the Force. Obi-Wan tried to focus, tried to think past the pain and dizziness in his head. 

“Master,” he said, and his voice was a slur, which was strange. He felt so cold. Nauseous as his position changed, all at once. Master Jinn had worked an arm under his shoulders, he realized, as his head lolled back. He lacked the strength to support it, a humiliation that barely registered.

“Sh, sh,” Master Jinn said, pulling Obi-Wan  _ up _ , against his chest. Obi-Wan could not seem to move his legs. They felt like leaden weights, slung over Master Jinn’s arm. 

“Xanatos,” Obi-Wan managed to force out, because that was… something Master Jinn needed to know. Obi-Wan could wait. Or maybe he couldn’t. He couldn’t… “He went... “ Obi-Wan tried to remember, but everything was a haze. “Away. You can. Catch him. Stop him.”

“Just breathe,” Master Jinn said, standing, the room tilting wildly around. There was a loud, agonized sound. It took Obi-Wan a disoriented moment to realize it came from his throat. He blinked, vaguely aware of tendrils of the Force curling around him, sinking into his skin.

“Master,” he said, unsure how his head had come to rest against Master Jinn’s shoulder, watching the corridor move past them. They were going so quickly. That seemed strange. Master Jinn needed to catch Xanatos. Needed to stop him. Needed… “I’m sorry.”

Master Jinn made an awful sound. Perhaps he was hurt, too. Perhaps Obi-Wan was an unnecessary burden. “Sh, Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn said, his voice thick and cracking. “Save your strength.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. They were so heavy. And he’d apologized. He could think of nothing else to do.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn said, but his voice came from so far away. “Obi-Wan! Stay with--”

#

Obi-Wan woke up slowly, feeling as though he were swimming through a sea of clouds. His senses returned haphazardly, providing him with information about his location as his mind drifted. He heard… voices, distant and soft. He smelled bacta and the soft scent of incense. There was warm light, coming through a window set in one wall, the sky beyond full of immense buildings and traffic.

He rubbed his fingers together and then flattened his hands on the blankets covering his legs. They were very soft. He hurt, but the pain was not impossible to handle. It was just a small ache, inside of him.

It took a moment before memories of the sharper agony returned, bringing with them the recollection of Xanatos’ face, of his words and the cruel tearing of the Force--

Obi-Wan’s heart lurched. He sat up, away from the pillows behind his head and shoulders, alarm surging through him. He was wearing… the robes of the healers, back at the Temple. The soft, creamy fabric resisted his efforts as he tugged at it. He shoved the blankets off of his legs, yanking at the robes, his hands clumsy, his lungs forgetting how to breathe.

The robes parted, finally, and he had a horrible moment of vertigo, though he was sitting.

His stomach looked… strange. Wrong. Flat. There were fading bruises on his skin, five points of green-purple color. Obi-Wan flailed a hand out, managing to grab the mattress, holding on as his head swam. 

“Oh,” a voice said from the doorway. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Obi-Wan felt dizzy. Awful. His throat was tight and his sinuses burned. The world had gone blurry. He reached out through the Force, unthinkingly, tugging on his connection with Master Jinn, and got…. Nothing back.

There were hands on his shoulder, then, soft and gentle. Something rubbed across his face, a soft voice entreated him to breathe, slow and deep. Obi-Wan did his best to listen to instructions, dizzy and adrift and alone.

#

Obi-Wan pieced together what had happened after his injury in the following days. Master Jinn had managed to get him stabilized, somehow. The medical staff had stopped the bleeding, and Master Jinn had thrown him into a healing trance.

That had kept Obi-Wan alive long enough to get back to the Temple, where he’d received treatment for some days. The healers did not say that he had almost died, but they did not have to. He read it in their expressions. He felt it in his bones.

The healers asked constantly if he were alright. So did Bant, when she was finally allowed to see him. So did Master Yoda, an unfamiliar sight in the halls of the healers’ ward. Obi-Wan told them all he was fine.

He was.

They released him, after a few days. Master Jinn had not returned. No one seemed to know exactly where he had gone. Obi-Wan’s chest stung. He meditated until the ache went away. He ate meals alone. He slept, too much. He listened to Master Yoda’s instruction, when the Master began stopping by his quarters, intent on talking about the Force and their connection to it and….

Obi-Wan did not always pay as much attention as Master Yoda deserved. 

Eventually, Master Windu stopped by and requested Obi-Wan’s attendance in the sparring rooms. Learning a new lightsaber form took much of Obi-Wan’s time. He went through the katas even after Master Windu retired, over and over, endlessly, until his muscles trembled and he felt nauseous.

The bruises on his stomach went away. The healers declared him fully recovered. He caught Bant watching him with wide eyes, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He told everyone he was fine.

No one seemed to believe him.

Obi-Wan dreamed too much, when he slept. None of the dreams were pleasant. He woke, frequently, breathing too hard, a hand on his stomach. He woke one night with an ache in his throat and his chest, and thought, in the cool darkness of his quarters, that it had been only another dream.

It took a moment for the dip of his mattress to register, for him to notice the noise of another person breathing. His breath caught at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. He knew Master Jinn in the dark. He would have known Master Jinn  _ anywhere _ .

They sat there in the dark for a time. Obi-Wan’s eyes burned. He smelled blood and burned fabric. His chest  _ ached _ . It was not, he realized, after a moment, his emotions making his ribs bite at his lungs. The feeling moved across their bond.

He asked, when he felt sure his voice would not quiver, “Where were you?”

Master Jinn let out a breath, shuddery. His fingers squeezed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Taking care of something I should have resolved long ago.”

He stood, then, and Obi-Wan moved to reach for him, hand stretching out, because he did not want to be alone, he didn’t--

Master Jinn pressed something into his extended hand, before Obi-Wan could seize his arm. The object was cool and metallic. Cylindrical. A lightsaber, Obi-Wan knew, just by touch, even in the dark. Not his. Not Master Jinn’s.

“What’s--” he started, and stopped, for Master Jinn had bent in the dark of the room, cupping Obi-Wan’s cheek and jaw with one large hand. Obi-Wan shivered when Master Jinn tilted his face up and kissed him, soft and fleeting, upon the mouth.

Master Jinn was gone, before Obi-Wan could think to respond, could think to do  _ anything.  _

It was the last time Master Jinn would kiss him for nearly seven years, but Obi-Wan did not know that, in the dark of his room. He knew only that his nerves burned with Master Jinn’s emotions and that he held a lightsaber he did not know.

He pushed to his feet, moving slowly, feeling lost in a dream. He waved the lights into brightness, standing by his cot, and almost dropped the lightsaber when he recognized its origin.

Xanatos’ saber rested in his hand. He swallowed, convulsively, his heart beating out of rhythm. He turned and sat the thing on his dresser, wiping his hands and stepping back from it, bracing the back of his forearm across his mouth.

A part of him wanted to run after Master Jinn, to demand answers, to ask what had happened and why and--

He pulled open a drawer on his dresser and pushed the lightsaber inside of it, shoving the drawer closed and leaning his weight against it. He stayed there until the sun came up. In the morning, he showered and dressed. He found breakfast waiting, Master Jinn holding a cup of tea and staring at nothing.

Obi-Wan did not ask where he had gone. He did not ask what Master Jinn had done. They did not speak of Xanatos.

“Do you need additional time to recover?” Master Jinn asked, as they were cleaning up the dishes from their meal. His tone was careful and controlled, but Obi-Wan felt a tight ache in his throat, and tasted bitterness on his tongue, bleedover from Master Jinn’s emotions.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, because he did not want to remain at the Temple any longer and because he did not want to be left behind and-- “I’m fine.”

#

They resumed their missions, falling back into old familiar patterns. Their connection dwindled, largely, but sometimes Obi-Wan picked up flickers of want directed his way, always tinged with sharper emotions that caught against his ribs.

Still, he thought… Master Jinn still wanted him. Some part of him. He’d lost - lost the hazel eyed girl with pale reddish hair, and the healers said they did not know if he could bear children in the future, not with the damage done by Xanatos, but...

Obi-Wan worked to sort his feelings out, over the months that followed. He worked to find his center, to release his fear and his anger, as best he could. Too much remained by the time his next heat approached, right on time, as ever it was.

Master Jinn took him back to Coruscant a week before the heat. And then he disappeared.

Obi-Wan woke up to find him gone, their quarters empty and still. He stood in the doorway to his room for a long time, picking at an imperfection on the doorframe with his blunt fingernails. Master Jinn had never  _ said _ , but--

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He was getting used to pushing things down and away, to putting emotions where they didn’t ache so sharply in the moment. He should have known. Master Jinn hadn’t wanted him in the first place. Perhaps the child had - had been tempting to him.

He hadn’t wanted to train Obi-Wan. Certainly he hadn’t wanted to help through his heats. Master Jinn had always made that abundantly clear, disappearing as soon as they got close. The last had been a fluke, and perhaps things would have been different if Obi-Wan had been more careful, had been stronger, had not fallen to Xanatos--

But he’d always been weak and prone to failure.

And failure always had a consequence.

Obi-Wan swallowed and went through the following days in a haze. He left the Temple when he felt warm, avoiding Quinlan and Bruck. He knew, by that point, that no alpha would want him twice. There was something wrong inside him and they could all sense it. They all took all necessary steps to avoid touching him a second time.

He didn’t want to ever have to see the alpha that discarded him again. He didn’t want to bump into them in the Temple, didn’t want to have to sit across from them at dinner, didn’t want to have to make nice or work together or--

He found a Twi’lek in a miserable little bar down in the lower levels of the city. They passed the first wave of his heat in an alley, people passing by only a handful of feet away, concealed by the corner of the building. They spent the next in a cramped little apartment, the windows all shut, the air smelling of grease and the noise of traffic providing a counterpoint to the sounds the Twi’lek made.

Obi-Wan never asked her name. She never asked his. She was asleep when he left, not even waiting until morning, his face dry and his throat tight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings for this section, except canon-typical violence and Obi-Wan falling in love.

Obi-Wan arrived for his training session with Master Windu on time the morning after his heat, cleaned up and unslept. He should have been, perhaps, clumsy with exhaustion, but he had gotten very good at controlling his body.

Master Windu still looked at him sharply, a frown on his face as they ended their work with a small bow. When Master Windu took a deep breath, Obi-Wan was ready to hear words of correction for his form, or, perhaps, praise that he was mastering the movements so quickly.

Instead, Master Windu suggested - or perhaps it was an order - that he attend a meeting with Master Ghur, one of the mind healers at the Temple. Obi-Wan blinked at him, standing there sweating, exhausted, and aching, and said, “Master, why--”

“It will help,” Master Windu said, when Obi-Wan found no way to finish his question. Obi-Wan was unsure specifically  _ how  _ a mind healer would help. He was hardly at the whim of his emotions, hardly in a dangerous state.

He was fine.

But Master Windu said, “Your appointment is after the midday meal,” and Obi-Wan nodded, and he went.

Master Ghur was a small Bothan woman, her fur dark and thick. She was sitting on a mat on the floor when he entered her office, her legs folded and her eyes shut. There was a pot of tea in front of her and two cups, along with a plate full of delicate looking pastries.

It looked like she was planning to entertain, and he hesitated, thinking that he had, perhaps, missed his appointment. She cracked an eye open as he stood in the doorway, and said, “Ah, Padawan Kenobi. You are prompt. Please, come in. Sit.”

He came in. He sat. He’d visited the mind healers before, over the years. After Bandomeer, particularly. But he’d always had excellent control of his emotions. He’d not caused problems. That had, perhaps, changed. He sank to the mat across from her and fell to pouring the tea, automatically. 

Her furred fingers were soft when he handed over the cup. She asked, holding the cup with both hands, “How are you feeling today, Padawan Kenobi?”

“I’m well,” he said, sipping at the tea - it was more bitter than he preferred, he tended to make it sweeter and Master Jinn had never chided him - and smiling. She hummed at him, her large eyes going half-lidded, and they spoke of nothing much of consequence for the following hour. She told him to return in three days.

He passed Master Jinn in the corridors on his way there for that meeting, and his Master only nodded at him, the flare of his emotions leaving Obi-Wan’s throat tight and his eyes stinging.

Obi-Wan had attended only a few meetings with her before they received their next orders, to go to some far off world on the brink of a civil war. He informed Master Ghur that he would not make their next sessions with a tinge of regret. Speaking with her had proved unexpectedly soothing. But she would, he supposed, be there when he returned.

#

They were sent to Mandalore only weeks after Obi-Wan’s heat. He was nineteen years old and he’d only heard of the world in passing. He frowned his way through the brief mission reports. It sounded just like another world in conflict, torn apart by differences in ideology on the surface, but…

Obi-Wan had been to enough planets just like it to know that it would all come down to power, in the end. One person had it, someone else wanted it. The only question would be who managed to shed enough blood to retain the control they so desperately desired.

He sighed on the transport, reams of information about Mandalore’s social classes and violent history spread around him. They’d probably be in and out in a matter of weeks, he figured. Maybe they’d even leave things slightly better than they found them.

Maybe Master Jinn would say something to him that wasn’t mission related.

Maybe--

Obi-Wan shook the thoughts away. He meditated and focused on some of the new exercises he’d learned from Master Ghur. He went through the forms Master Windu had taught him, all with no idea that he would spend more time on Mandalore than he spent consecutively on any world, besides Coruscant.

Really, he should have known the mission was going to go all wrong the first time he met Satine Kryze after spending barely an hour planetside and already on the run from what seemed to be an entire army intent on killing them all.

Obi-Wan distantly expected some kind of thank-you for preventing Satine’s assassination within moments of meeting her. He hadn’t expected, pulling her into an alley to avoid the guards chasing them, for her to shove at his shoulder and hiss up at him, “You killed that man!”

Obi-Wan blinked down at her. Her eyes were the palest blue he’d ever seen. Exertion had stained her fair cheeks all to red and her blond hair had come out of it’s elaborate coif, falling around her shoulders. She smelled, so close and with her eyes flashing, all of alpha aggression.

“Yes,” he said, glancing at the other end of the alley, trying to ignore the swift kick of desire in his gut and the quickening of his pulse. He’d never felt attraction so quickly for someone before, and  _ certainly  _ not outside of a heat. It made him feel off-balance. He needed to focus on the mission. Master Jinn had ordered him to get Satine out of the capital. He reached down and took her arm, tugging her along.

She jerked away from his grip, at least keeping her voice low when she snapped, “Well, you shall not anymore.”

Obi-Wan glanced back at her. He could sense the guards moving around them, their search pattern squeezing closed like a vice. Still, he could not help but asking, “Excuse me?”

“I forbid you to use deadly force,” she said, chin going up in the air, “acts of murder shall not cool tensions and--”

“Miss,” Obi-Wan started, because that was not an argument he’d expected to have and because he did not have time to explain that, actually, a few deaths often had a very chilling effect on violent urges, but--

“ _ Duchess _ ,” she shot back, her pale eyes narrowed, her clothing hanging all askew, for Obi-Wan had been forced to throw her over his shoulder at one point in their escape, the better to rappel down the side of a building.

“Duchess,” he said; he was long used to placating the ruling class on whatever world he happened to be upon. “If we don’t leave right now, you’re going to get a very close look at deadly force. Could we discuss this later?”

She glared up at him for a moment and then said, “Very well. But while assisting me you’ll refrain from--”

“Wonderful,” he said, and took her arm again, pulling her into motion. She made an indignant sound, but at least she moved with him. They had a lot of city to cover, and did manage to get out without any other fatalities, somehow.

At some point in their flight, she twisted her arm under his grip. He eased his hold, thinking she would keep up on her own, and startled when she only slid her hand into his, her slim flingers threading through his. 

He did not jerk his hand away from her. She probably needed the comfort, and he got the feeling that drawing attention to that would only make her bristle. She  _ radiated  _ pride. Obi-Wan knew well enough how to handle that, leading her onward, through the city and out into the potential safety beyond.

#

In the end, it took three days to meet up with Master Jinn once more. Three days of running, hiding when possible, sleeping little, and eating less was not unusual for Obi-Wan. It obviously was for Satine, who flagged more and more with each hour that passed. 

Still, she refused to slow down or admit any manner of defeat. She just set her jaw, gritted her teeth together, and kept going. Obi-Wan pushed more of their meagre food rations her way at meal times, took her watches in the night, and managed to keep her alive until they found Master Jinn.

Her tongue grew no less sharp after three days of running, but that was fine. Obi-Wan had decided she simply didn’t care for him. He expected, vaguely, that she and Master Jinn would get along exceptionally well. They seemed to have a similar interest in waxing philosophic, in any case.

Obi-Wan imagined that she and Qui-Gon would sit and discuss her plans for the planet and come to some kind of agreement and… make friends, he supposed. He discovered, roughly two minutes after they reunited, that he was completely mistaken.

Master Jinn welcomed them into the little cottage where he had gone to ground, looking them both over. It was warm inside the small building, which was a relief after the cold rains they’d hiked through for most of the day. Obi-Wan nudged Satine closer to the center of the space, away from the windows, and Master Jinn said, “I see you had some difficulties ensuring she stayed safe, Padwan.”

Obi-Wan nodded, knowing he should have kept better watch over her; Satine was, as near as he could tell, the best person in any position to stop the entire planet from tearing itself apart. He opened his mouth to make an apology, only to have Satine turn on her heel, eyes flashing as she straightened her spine, snapping, “He worked tirelessly to protect my life, in fact, and suffered in the process.”

Obi-Wan blinked at her. It should have been amusing, watching her try to glare down her nose at Master Jinn, who towered over her by nearly two heads. She managed well enough, even with the hem of her dress stained and torn and her hair all in a tangle.

She said, still scowling at Master Jinn, who was apparently speechless, “I shall see to his wounds.” She frowned. “You’ve had three days. Is there nothing here to eat?”

Obi-Wan started to protest, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him over, already plucking at a bandage wrapped hastily around his hand. The moment for protest seemed to pass in an instant, with Master Jinn saying, something tight in his voice, “I’m sure there’s something.”

Satine frowned over the bowls of rewarmed nutrient broth Master Jinn brought over, her nose wrinkling as she sniffed at it. But she drank with no protest beyond a twist of her mouth. Obi-Wan swallowed his, barely tasting the slightly sour liquid, still feeling the soft touch of her fingers on his palm as she’d cleaned the burn on his skin.

#

Obi-Wan thought they might resolve things on Mandalore inside the week, at first. It took a few days to realize how badly the situation had destabilized. There was a blockade around the planet. The communications array seemed to be in shambles. And to top all else, they were being hunted by, apparently, most of the army.

One week on Mandalore stretched to two, to three, to a Galactic standard month. They ran, hid, and fought when they could not avoid it. The fights tended towards brutal, challenging even after years of Jedi training. The Mandalorians knew how to make war, perhaps more than anything else.

Obi-Wan limped away from their latest fracas, resisting the urge to curl an arm up and around his ribs. They’d found some kind of abandoned warehouse to hole up in, and he took himself off to one corner, planning to tend to the injuries that ached through him.

He’d only just found a wall to slide down when Satine demanded, “What are you doing?”

He blinked up at her and sighed. “Nothing that cannot wait, Duchess. What did you need?”

“I need nothing,” she said, frowning down at him. “Get off of the floor.” And she would not be dissuaded from tugging him to his feet and over to the single cot they’d found, which they’d given to her without complaint. “Sit,” she said.

Obi-Wan looked at her, looked at the cot, and said, “Truly, Duchess, could we hold off on lectures regarding my violent nature--”

“You’re hurt,” she interrupted, turning aside, bending to lift a bucket by the side of the bed. She set it on the mattress, water sloshing against the side. He wondered, vaguely, where she’d gotten it. “Now open your robes. Sit down.”

Exhaustion and curiosity at what she intended had Obi-Wan loosening his tunic. He parted the fabric, watching her go strangely still, her gaze sliding sideways to focus on him. She kept watching him as he sat. She cleared her throat, wringing a rag out over the bucket.

The first touch of her fingers against his ribs was cool. He shivered and said, “I’m capable of tending to myself.”

She made a doubtful little sound and gave a roll of her eyes. “You know,” she said, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth, her tone razor sharp, “I always heard that off-world omegas were different. Agreeable and peaceful. Softer. But you’re just as prone to violence as any I’ve ever met on Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan snorted, trying not to focus too much on the slide of her fingers over his skin. ”Oh, yes,” he said, “just like how  _ all  _ alphas are violent brutes who cannot be reasoned with.”

She hesitated, pressing the rag against his skin. She said, quietly, “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. That was an… unthinking thing to say.” She put her other hand on his shoulder, though there was no wound there, her thumb sliding over his collarbone. He stared up at her, breath catching strangely, and she said, quiet, “Would you forgive--”

“We’ve been found,” Master Jinn announced, approaching quickly before his steps faltered. He cleared his throat. “We must go. Now.”

Obi-Wan swore beneath his breath, taking Satine’s offered hand, nodding his thanks when she pulled him to his feet. They ran. It seemed to be all they had time to do. He was getting to hate the entire bloody planet.

#

Obi-Wan had never spent so long on one world - they were still on-world when his birthday came and went - but all their efforts to get off of Mandalore were thwarted. There was to be no taking Satine off-world to safety, no bringing in outside help to cool the tensions. They were alone, two Jedi and one Duchess, attempting to wrangle an entire planet into the avoidance of all-out war.

They fled when necessary. They ran into groups willing to listen to their side and take up their cause. They fought, and Satine negotiated, and, sometimes, they even managed to sleep for more than a few moments at a time.

Bickering back and forth with Satine grew to be something like second nature. They had disagreements that he could see no way to resolve, but… But in the face of a civil war, those conflicts of opinion seemed small.

And they did not argue all of the time. They’d get nothing done if they did. She told him more of her people, over the weeks and months that followed. She taught him the language of her world, and he felt strangely warm inside when she laughed, delighted, and said, “Oh, your pronunciation is  _ atrocious _ . Say it like this.”

He spoke to her of the Jedi and all the worlds he’d seen. Sometimes, they lay out beneath the stars. He pointed upwards, selecting distant suns and telling her of the worlds that orbited them. She would often press close, the better to see, her shoulder resting against his. Sometimes, it made his heart beat so quickly that he forgot what he was speaking of, feeling the long strands of her hair against his cheek.

Once, he went looking for her after another day of running. They’d managed to hole up in a  _ cave _ , again, but one that was, at least, close to a river. He followed her signature in the Force down to the water, confused that she would be there; he’d already promised to bring back water for their meal.

He found her not collecting water. His first glimpse of her was the pale skin of her shoulders, half covered by a fall of shining blond hair. Water ran in rivulets down her skin, sliding down towards--

Obi-Wan turned on his heel without thought, hoping she had not seen him or heard the noise that snagged in his throat. He marched back to the cave with the image of her skin still in his mind. She had looked so soft. It was painfully easy to imagine touching her, and he curled his fingers up against his palms.

He felt warm under his robes, his body responding in all kinds of inappropriate ways.

He tried not to think about the curve of her shoulder or the movement of her shoulder blade when she returned for the evening. He did not chide her for going to the river alone. Master Jinn did, however, and Obi-Wan listened to her snap back at him with a growing sense of familiarity.

She sat down across the fire from Master Jinn while still glaring, her wet hair tied back in a loose braid. Obi-Wan looked back and forth between them, and asked, “Shall we eat?” Most of their meals went like that, and even still he came to enjoy being around her, to miss her presence each time they were forced to seperate, even briefly. He ached, inside his chest, when she was close and the ache grew deeper when they were apart.

He tried to meditate on the emotions, to clear his head and his chest, but there was so little time. And the warmth of her presence was so pleasant. The emotions only grew, building on one another, and he did not know for sure what the feelings represented, but….

But he was not a complete fool. He looked at her as they stood in front of the sweeping sea, the wind coming off of the water stirring her hair, and thought, of course, he would fall in love with  _ her _ .

#

He expected, somehow, that the tensions between Satine and Qui-Gon would ease over time. That never seemed to happen. After months spent on Mandalore, she was still snapping sharp remarks to Master Jinn over their meals, her blue eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan listened to their latest disagreement with raised eyebrows. Satine swept from the room as soon as she finished her meal, her last cutting remark hanging in the air. Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. He said, “I’m sorry, Master, I don’t know why she’s so angry with you.”

It made no sense, truly. Master Jinn agreed with her more, on a base level, than Obi-Wan. He was willing to endlessly discuss the morality of what they were doing, of her stance, of the Mandalorian people…

Master Jinn sighed, shaking his head as he stood. “It is not so difficult to understand,” he said.

Obi-Wan blinked, wondering immediately what he had missed. “It is for me,” he said, waiting for an additional explanation.

Master Jinn’s mouth crooked. He looked to the side. “Her philosophy prevents her from striking me across the back of the head with a stick,” he said, shrugging. “So we argue endlessly, instead.”

Obi-Wan considered that reply and found it provided none of the answers he was looking for. He said, “Master?”

“There are situations where two alphas simply cannot get along, Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn said, softly. He was looking to one side, his expression still and calm. Obi-Wan picked up emotions through their bond that belied the serenity of his expression. Pain, sudden and sharp and  _ gone _ , radiated across their connection.

Obi-Wan stood there, holding an empty bowl. He said, “I don’t...what does that have to do with anything?”

Master Jinn’s mouth curled. It did not look much like a smile. He said, “Do not worry over it, Obi-Wan. Just know that our Duchess is quite perceptive. She will make a formidable ruler, some day. But now she is young, living in reckless times. Her emotions are close to the surface. And… very intense.” He shook his head, turning aside. “You should rest. No doubt we have a long day tomorrow.”

#

Obi-Wan did not suggest to Satine that she argue less with Master Jinn. The discussion seemed unlikely to produce any fruitful results. He ignored opportunities to discuss the subject, times when they were alone.

He had hours with her, one evening more than ten months after they first arrived on Mandalore; his heat was getting very close, but he was ignoring that for the moment. Satine had managed to arrange a meeting with some of the minor nobles on the world, hoping to gain their support, and her emotions had promptly shifted to anxiety.

She’d carried a gown with her, all across the planet, and drew it from her bag with careful hands. It fit her - barely - but her hair was a tangle. “They’ll expect me to  _ look  _ as though I could lead,” she said, her mouth twisted into an unhappy scowl. “Not like some urchin. I cannot meet with them like this.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Obi-Wan said, because the alternative was to tell her that she looked beautiful to him, that he could not imagine anyone finding her anything but queenly. He swallowed those words back, smiling when she flashed him a doubtful look.

“And how shall we do that?” she asked, standing there in her pale dress, the fabric catching the light and shimmering. He looked around, because to continue looking at her was to lose the battle not to reach out and pull her closer. 

They’d made their latest camp in a run-down cabin beside a lake. The light flickered off the water’s surface. They were ringed in by trees and shrubberies. Flowers. There was certainly nothing close to a store anywhere, and, anyway, they were wanted. He couldn’t run out and buy her something for her hair. He frowned, gaze caught on a flash of white.

He stared at the blooming flowers. He didn’t know the name for them, but they were strikingly large blossoms, white and softly curled. “Well?” Satine asked, moving to cross her arms and stopping, for she needed to hold the hem of the gown off of the sodden ground.

“I have an idea,” Obi-Wan said, gaze still on the flowers. “Wait here.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Satine said, when he returned with a tunic full of the blooms. “Flowers?” 

“Flowers,” he said, nodding. “Come inside, sit down.” She eyed him, gaze full of doubt, and then sighed. She sat, stiff-backed, on a chair by the window so that Obi-Wan could use the light. He looked at the fall of her hair, heart speeding at the thought that he was, apparently, going to touch the soft tresses.

He swallowed. A Jedi should not feel anxiety about such a simple task. He’d walked into certain death so many times. He could comb Satine’s hair, and did so. He could twist and pull back the silken weight of it, eventually bringing it to some kind of order. He could gently thread the stems of the blossoms beneath, securing them as carefully as he could.

“There,” he said, finally finished, stepping around her in a circle to make sure everything looked orderly. He nodded, bending to pull a mirror from her pack and holding it out to her. “What do you think?”

She took the mirror after a moment. There was a pink tinge to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She blinked, quickly, finally shaking her head and gazing into the mirror. She said, slowly, “It looks… very nice, Obi-Wan. Thank you.”

His chest warmed. He looked to the side, away from the blush on her skin, and cleared his throat. “And now you can go and--”

“Obi-Wan,” she said, standing hurriedly, her hand closing around one of his wrists. He looked back at her, helpless to resist the urge. Her eyes shone and she wetted her bottom lip, dragging his attention to her mouth. “You have done so much for me,” she said, her fingers warm and sure. “I want you to know that I--”

“Are you both ready?” Master Jinn asked, stepping through the door to the cabin, ducking to avoid striking his head. 

Satine  _ growled _ , the noise vibrating through her throat, as she cut Master Jinn the darkest look he’d ever seen on her face. Master Jinn gazed back, expression all peace and serenity but…. But Obi-Wan’s throat had grown tight and stinging from the bleedover of emotions that did not belong to him.

“I suppose we are,” Obi-Wan said, attempting to defuse the tension between them. “Come on,” he said, reaching out to minutely adjust the angle of one of the flowers. “We don’t want to be late.”

They ended up dancing together. Obi-Wan was never sure how that happened. There were countless nobles, it seemed, who all wanted the chance to slip onto the dancefloor with Satine. And yet, he ended up with her in his arms, spinning beneath a shining chandelier, music curling through the air around them.

More nobles had come than Satine had dared to hope. They’d been more willing to hear than Obi-Wan had assumed possible. He could  _ feel  _ her relief and cautious joy through the entirety of the evening and it came through so strongly as her hand rested on his shoulder.

The rest of the crowd around them seemed far away and distant. Obi-Wan could not make himself care about them, his attention caught on her pale eyes and the fall of her dress. She was made for such things, he realized, her back so soft under his hand. She belonged in places like this, not in some run-down cabin or cave or prison or--

“You’re thinking too much,” she said, her mouth curving into a smile as the music changed around them, going slower. She moved closer in time with it, arm fully curving around his back, and-- “Stop that, just for a moment.”

It was, truly, hard to think about anything in her embrace. He held her, carefully, smelling the perfume of the flowers in her hair, his heart beating so hard it left him feeling shaky. He knew other people were watching them. He knew  _ Master Jinn  _ was watching them, but could not bring himself to care, not when she tilted her head just so, her gaze shifting to his mouth, and--

And that was, of course, when the explosions started happening. The first one was close. Close enough to throw shrapnel everywhere. Obi-Wan pulled Satine flush to his body, turning in accordance with the sudden tension in the Force, feeling a wash of heat and pain across his back.

Other explosions followed, but Obi-Wan was already moving, by then, pulling Satine along.

All of the flowers had fallen from her hair by the time they stopped running. Her dress was torn, in shreds to her knees. But she was alright, unharmed. Obi-Wan made sure of that, grabbing both of her shoulders and looking her over before he swayed on his feet.

She was fine. Unharmed. 

He went to one knee, hearing her voice calling to him from far away. Her hair fell all around his face, which made no sense. He did not even recall ending up on his back. He reached up, trying to tuck some of the tumbling strands behind her ear - she wouldn’t want anyone to see her so undone - and frowned when he left behind smears of red.

“Sorry,” he murmured, unthinking, and she yelled something at him, but his eyes had slipped closed and he could not force them open again.

#

Obi-Wan woke up to yelling. It did not seem directed at him. He blinked dazedly at an unfamiliar wall, wiggling his fingers and his toes. His back hurt. He was lying on his stomach. There appeared to be bandages wrapped around him. He recognized the shiny fabric. He’d last seen Satine wearing it.

He rubbed his fingers over the fabric covering his ribs, half-dizzy, only distantly aware of Satine’s voice as she snapped, “--providing protection, did you somehow fail to  _ notice  _ the explosives being--”

He groaned. She only ever yelled like that at Master Jinn. Which meant Master Jinn had made it out of the ballroom. Which meant they had all survived, somehow. It also meant, he supposed, that he needed to get up and break up their argument.

Obi-Wan put one hand on the mattress, shifting upwards, and Satine cried, “Don’t move!” 

She was there, then, leaning into his field of vision, her hair a tangled mess. He blinked, sure suddenly that he was dreaming, because she appeared to be wearing his tunic, tied awkwardly shut and stained with blood.

She put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back to the mattress. Obi-Wan gasped, only half from pain, and sank back, thoughts all a confused tangle and a sudden burst of warmth in his gut. He’d maybe thought about her shoving him down against a flat surface before, maybe thought--

He shoved those considerations to one side, cleared his throat, and managed to ask, “What’s going on?”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, her hand still on his skin, exerting pressure. “That’s what’s going on. You could have been killed! What were you thinking?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t actually remember thinking anything. There’d been an explosion. She’d been in danger. He’d done what was necessary to protect her. He blinked, still not altogether sure he was awake, and said, “I had to make sure you were alright.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, frustrated, and said, “Do you think I’d want--”

“You should let him rest,” Master Jinn said, stepping closer. “You did a fine job bandaging the injury, but it appears quite serious.” Master Jinn’s shadow fell over them. Obi-Wan could not see him. Satine blocked his view. “He needs to heal. Obi-Wan, I am going to put in you a healing trance.”

Obi-Wan nodded. His thoughts grew more fractious by the moment. Master Jinn’s hand felt warm on his back, tendrils of the Force curling around his battered body. He heard Satine say something, sharp and chiding, but he was too far gone by then to understand the words.

#

Obi-Wan was in a different building the next time he woke up. He shifted on soft sheets, aware that there was an actual mattress underneath him. Much of the pain in his back had dissipated. Breathing felt easier. He scrubbed at his face and heard a scramble of movement in the room.

“Obi-Wan?” Satine asked, leaning over him suddenly, her hair tied back and dark circles under her eyes. She put a hand on his shoulder, radiating guilt so clearly that he didn’t even need the Force to pick it up. He read it in the way she would not quite meet his eyes.

“Mm,” he said, rolling to get a better look at the room. His head felt fuzzy. And she smelled… distractingly good. He wondered, with sudden concern, exactly how long he’d been out, how close he was to a heat. He pushed that thought away, taking in the room, instead. There wasn’t much to see.

The room was small, with a window firmly shut with drapes. There was a chair, pulled close to the bed, a blanket tossed over one arm. The door stood open. He could not feel Master Jinn’s presence anywhere.

“Are you feeling alright?” Satine asked, still gripping his shoulder, squeezing tighter when he pushed up off of the mattress. “I’m not sure you should be sitting up.”

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to flash her a reassuring smile. She pressed her lips together, brows drawing close with tension, doubt written across her expression. “Really, I am. Just thirsty.” She straightened at once, disappearing through the door without a word. By the time she returned, a moment later, carrying a glass of water, he’d managed to stand.

There was a mirror on one wall, a small thing. Obi-Wan twisted in front of it, trying to get a look at his back. “A piece of shrapnel went between your ribs,” Satine said, quietly, from the doorway. Obi-Wan glanced at her and found her nearly as pale as the sheets on the bed. She tightened her fingers around the cup. “Your chest was filling up with air. I…” She swallowed, heavily. “I had to let it out.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning away from the mirror. He’d seen scars on his flesh before. They were nothing special.

She shuddered, held the cup of water out to him, and said, “Don’t.” He took the water, watching as she fled through the door. He scrubbed a hand over his face, swallowed, and wondered if she’d go, too. The way Master Jinn had.

#

Satine was still in the little house when Obi-Wan stepped from the room, freshly showered. She was sitting, her legs curled up, on a very large chair, staring at the wall. Obi-Wan cleared his throat and she looked over at him, before her gaze slid to the side.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he said, and she scoffed. He took a step towards her. “Satine, I promised to protect you, I--”

She jerked to her feet, taking two steps towards him, eyes blazing. “You did not promise to lay down your life for mine,” she snapped, her chin coming up.

Obi-Wan looked at her and felt his heart trip over. He wished he could blame the swell of emotions on all the hormones he could almost  _ feel  _ moving through his blood - he was  _ right  _ on the edge of a heat - but all the feelings had been there before. He gave her a helpless smile and said, “Yes, I did. Every day since I first saw you.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, reaching up to touch his cheek, her fingers warm and soft. He leaned into the touch, could not resist the urge. He was close enough to watch her pupils expand, her eyes going dark. She said, quietly, “Obi-Wan….”

He seemed to have reached out and touched her side, his hand resting on the soft fabric of her dress. He shouldn’t have done that, he was sure. He swallowed, marshalling his control, and said, “You should - you should know I’ll be going into heat, soon, and--”

“I know,” she interrupted, stopping up the words in his throat. “Qui-Gon told me. Before he left. As though I could not tell on my own.” A thread of sharpness wound into her words. “He… explained your situation.”

Obi-Wan felt heat blaze across his face and down his neck, horrified that conversation had happened and relieved he had been, at least, unconscious for it. He nodded. “Right.” He swallowed. “Well, he always leaves. And I understand if you may want--”

She made an impatient sound, sliding her hand on his cheek back, so her fingers carded through his hair, grown too long over their months of time on the run. She was close, so close to him, her other hand coming to rest on his chest, and he froze, breath hitching and trapped in his lungs.

“I told you once,” she said, “that I thought off-world omegas would be - be more peaceable. Kind and soft.”

He shuddered, turning his face away from hers. This was not what he had dared to hope for, then. This was just some… some strange way of turning him down. He swallowed. “I must have been such a disappointment for you.”

Her fingers brushed his neck, feather soft. She said, her voice gone quiet and thick, “You are, indeed, every bit as fierce and strong as any omega among my people. And--”

He could not bear this, whatever it was. He rasped, aching, “You should--”

“ _ And _ ,” she continued, tugging at his hair, leaning into him, “and, against all odds, I find that I am, in some respects, at least, very much a traditionalist.”

Obi-Wan blinked. He started to ask a question, for confirmation that he’d understood her, and she pushed up onto her toes. She kissed him softly, at first, little more than a brush of her mouth against his, but still enough to flare the heat in his blood to open flame. He gasped against her mouth, murmuring, “Satine?”

“I don’t want to run away,” she said, kissing him once more. “I want to stay right here. With you. Would you have me?”

He let out a shuddery breath against her mouth, curled his arm around her back, and managed to rasp, “Yes.”

#

Obi-Wan had not fallen fully into his heat, when they first made it back to the bed. He wanted her, anyway, had yearned for her for months, not with blind desire but with something deep that seemed to have spread through each nerve in his body.

He wanted to fall back across the mattress when she pushed at his shoulder, he wanted to see the way her eyes widened when she settled across his hips. He wanted to slide fingers into the waterfall of her hair, and draw her close, and kiss her until she groaned against his mouth, grinding against him.

They found their way together carefully, free of the worst of the burning desire. He’d never… never shared his body with anyone outside of a full heat before. It left everything feeling strange and new, but not, he thought, as strange and new as it was for Satine.

She’d taken no lovers before, she said, her cheek pressed to his. He could feel the heat in her skin, taste her embarrassment through the Force, and he pulled her around to kiss her. “It does not matter,” he said, stroking his thumb across her jaw. 

“I might not know…” she said, against his mouth, running her hands over his skin. “What to do.”

He hummed, smiling, trying to kiss away any of her anxiety. “I’ll show you,” he promised, and tugged her closer, peeling her from her dress, running fingers over creamy skin, learning all the planes of her, all her curves, and they were both over-skinny, both showing marks of so long spent running and hungry and still she--

She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He could not imagine how she’d decided that she wanted to have him. Perhaps the world had finally decided to grant him some good luck. He certainly thought so, later, when he got his mouth on her and her back bowed up, her fingers tight in his hair and her voice high and wild as she found her release.

He pushed up onto one arm, wiping the back of his wrist across his mouth, and she said, “Oh, come here,” and he fell into her arms, obligingly.

#

They tangled amongst the sheets, learning how they fitted together, and dozed, and woke again, all sense of time escaping Obi-Wan. He did not know exactly when he fell fully into heat. It happened between one breath and the next, not jarring and of no cause for panic or worry.

He already had Satine right there, pressed close to him, her touch soothing all the needs inside of him. She felt wondering and pleasure-drunk through the Force, radiating something that left Obi-Wan deliciously warm, that kept dragging a smile to his mouth.

They held each other for long, timeless hours. He’d matured fully, past the shorter heats of his younger years, which could so often be sated with one or two joinings. He found, with Satine, that he did not mind the increased time.

She fell over him, eventually, collapsing against his chest, breathing hard, her skin all sheened with sweat. He rubbed a gentling hand up and down her back, and she bumped her head up under his chin, pressing absent kisses against his skin. She nuzzled closer and murmured, “Oh, I love you.”

The words froze the entire world into place, for just an instant. Obi-Wan forgot how to breathe. How even to think. She-- It seemed impossible, but -- But, oh, perhaps that was the feeling she was bleeding everywhere through the Force, this warm, all-encompassing thing that left him feeling like he was glowing inside and--

And it came not just from her. Obi-Wan swallowed, tugging at her, needing to kiss her mouth, straining his shoulders up, for the connection of their bodies did not allow him to haul her up, and panted, “I, yes, I love you, too, Satine, I--”

She made a hungry sound, and Obi-Wan shivered, loving her so much that everything else faded away.

#

Master Jinn returned a few days later. He took a breath when he entered the little house, and Obi-Wan’s throat got tight with borrowed emotion. But Master Jinn said nothing about the way Satine held onto Obi-Wan’s hand. He said nothing about the blending of their scents. He said only, “We must go, we’ve stayed here too long.”

They went. Satine put her bedroll beside Obi-Wan’s that night, when they found no building to stay in. She rolled close to him and put an arm around him, doing nothing but holding and he… slept deep and peaceful, the warmth of her affections keeping away the cold.

He did not know how long they would remain on Mandalore. He no longer worried about it. Not when Satine threaded their fingers together over his stomach and hummed, her nose brushing the back of his neck.

Happiness still felt like an undiscovered country to him. It was one he looked forward to exploring and learning well.

#

Three days later, everything they’d been working towards finally fell into place. It happened so suddenly, after so long working and struggling. One day he was waking up beside Satine in an abandoned warehouse. The next morning they were in the capital and twelve people he’d never seen before were pulling Satine into fine gowns, arranging her hair, and chattering to her and one another.

Obi-Wan stood in the doorway of the room, sharp prickles running down the back of his neck, the Force winding around him, sharp with forewarning.

He tried to shake the feeling away, but it lingered. It grew thicker over the coming days, as Satine moved through one meeting to the next, as treaties were signed, as things… resolved. 

Satine did not come to his room in the night. They barely spoke through the days. In fact, they barely saw one another. Obi-Wan’s stomach ached, terribly, and he meditated as much as he could, looking for peace that evaded him.

He was meditating when Master Jinn sank down across from him and said, “I have arranged transport for us back to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed, swallowing convulsively. He’d known the news was coming. Mandalore had reached, somehow, a peaceful condition. Their work, so long and so miserable, had ended. There was no reason for them to remain. Not as a Jedi.

“When?” he asked, when he trusted his voice not to crack.

“In the morning,” Master Jinn said. He stayed where he was for a moment. Obi-Wan felt him reach out, hand hovering close to Obi-Wan’s arm. In the end, Master Jinn rose again without touching him and left without another word.

Obi-Wan waited until he heard the door shut and then curled his shoulders forward, hands pressed to fists in his lap. 

#

Obi-Wan went to find Satine. It seemed the only thing to do. He found her in her rooms, so much grander than anywhere they’d been in the last year. Huge windows overlooked the capital. There were fine rugs everywhere and a tremendously giant bed that Obi-Wan avoided looking at as her guards let him in.

Satine looked up when he entered and a smile touched her mouth. She came around the desk where she’d been working, saying, “Obi-Wan! There you are. I hoped maybe to see you at dinner, but you were--”

“Master Jinn has arranged for us to leave in the morning,” he cut in, because the news could not be held behind his teeth any longer. She froze, a few steps away from him, her eyes wide. She was still wearing her fine robes, her hair still tied up. She looked… every inch a Duchess. 

“Oh,” she said, quietly. “I see.”

He swallowed. He wanted to go to her, to throw his arms around her. But she seemed so… distant. So cool and perfect. He said, “As a Jedi, I’m not needed here anymore.” 

She took a step towards him and then another. She reached out, fingers brushing the back of his hand. He felt, within her, stunning want. An aching desire. He wanted, in that moment, nothing more than for her to say that he was more than a Jedi.

He wanted her to tell him that she loved him. Again. Still. He wanted her to curl an arm around the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss. He wanted her to ask him to stay, to ignore the shuttle, to--

“I understand,” she said, instead, quietly. “As Duchess,” she continued, his throat tight and her eyes shining, “I am needed. Right here.” She took a shuddery breath. “And I must put my people first. They need my… my full attention. Undistracted. Right now. No matter what I - I might prefer.”

Each word felt like a knife, digging into the heart of him. He worked to keep the feelings raging in his chest off of his expression, nodding. “Of course,” he said, and his voice sounded strange. Choked. He cleared his throat, too late.

“Obi-Wan.” She said, her expression cracking as she stepped forward. She started to reach for him and caught herself. She looked so beautiful, standing there, in all the finery she deserved, her eyes shining and wet. She glanced to the side, her jaw working soundlessly for a moment, before she said, “I am needed here. You are needed with your Order. Perhaps,” she said, into the silence that he could not break. She looked back at him, a tear running down her face. “Perhaps that will not always be true.”

“Perhaps,” he said, around the shards of glass all caught in his throat. He knew a goodbye when he heard one. He said, turning on his heel, “Goodbye, Satine.”

She grabbed him, when he tried to take a step, throwing herself against him, her arms twining around his shoulders. She pushed to her toes, her mouth fitting so perfectly against his. He held her, helplessly, kissing her soft, giving mouth, thinking--

Urgent knocking at her door interrupted them. She startled in his arms, pulling back even as someone on the other side cried, “Duchess! Duchess, we have an urgent matter to discuss with you. Duchess, are you in there?”

Satine slipped away from him, hands fluttering over her hair to make sure it remained in order. Obi-Wan watched her open the door as though in a trance, still feeling her mouth on his. Clerks and nobles flooded into the room, waving their hands and pads, their voices high and ringing. 

Obi-Wan slipped out while they were all talking, his chest full of a cold ache.

No one called him back.

He was not sure anyone even saw him go.

#

Satine was not there to see them off in the morning. Obi-Wan told himself to feel grateful for it, walking up the ramp to the small transport a step behind Master Jinn. He felt almost dizzy and his stomach would not settle, but he would rest once they reached their quarters. It would be fine. He was sure of it.

He looked over his shoulder one last time as he reached the top of the ramp, scanning the area around the transport. Just in case. There was barely anyone down at the space port. None of them looked anything like Satine.

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, swallowed, and followed Master Jinn to their quarters. He placed his small bag on his bunk and sat beside it. He noticed, vaguely, that Master Jinn seemed to be lingering in the room. Likely, Obi-Wan should ask how he was, if they’d received a new mission, but…

He could not seem to find any way to stir his tongue to ask the questions. 

“Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn said, eventually, his voice quiet and soft. Obi-Wan blinked up at him and found him staring at the wall. “I’m… would you like to meditate?”

“Why not,” Obi-Wan said, rising again. Perhaps it would even help.

#

They went back to the Temple. They were given some time to recover, after their long stay on Mandalore. Obi-Wan spent much of his time alone, for the company of others grated against his mind and left him feeling abraded. 

He wished, some days, that they’d be sent to do  _ something _ , so he didn’t have to think so much. The Council stubbornly refused to see it that way, leaving him with too much time to fill. He meditated. He resumed his study of different lightsaber forms. He met again with Master Ghur. He tried to process all the memories of Satine.

And he began to feel odd and queasy, some weeks later. The first time he lurched up from meditation, scrambling to one side only to realize there was  _ nowhere  _ to go before he got ill, Master Jinn was there.

Master Jinn knelt beside him, shockingly, a hand on his back as he retched. Obi-Wan felt his concern, flaring huge and fast, as his stomach emptied. Obi-Wan looked up at him when the worst passed, acid burning the inside of his mouth. His mind raced down shadowed paths, ones that left his hands shaking, that brought back memories he thought he’d sorted, of agony and the feel of blood on his thighs and--

“Master,” he said, his voice cracking, terribly, and Master Jinn’s fingers curled shut in his tunics.

“It’s alright,” Master Jinn said, rising, guiding him to his feet. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Obi-Wan. Let’s get you to the healers.”

#

It was not nothing. Obi-Wan listened to the healers and tried to swallow the laugh building in his throat, because it felt all jagged and ugly. He did not manage. It escaped, and the healers exchanged worried looks over his head.

They said all kinds of things, but he barely registered the words. He only wanted to return to his quarters and curl up on his bed, arms wrapped around his body. He did not even bother to pull the blankets up. He doubted they would warm him, anyway.

Another pregnancy. It seemed unreal. After what Xanatos… had done, the healers hadn’t even been sure he’d be able to bear children. They’d said the damage was severe, that even with the healing of the Force it was unlikely that he’d ever quicken with child again.

Well. Obviously, they’d been wrong. 

Obi-Wan squeezed his stinging eyes closed, curling up tighter. He stayed there until he felt Master Jinn, hesitating in his door. He smelled mint tea and his throat closed fiercely. He worked to breathe steadily as Master Jinn crossed the room, sitting, finally, on the floor by his bed. “I made you tea,” he said, quietly.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, and made no move to uncurl. He did not think he could manage it.

Obi-Wan wondered if Master Jinn would be angry that he carried someone else’s child. Alphas got like that, he’d always heard. Protective. Possessive. He felt nothing like anger across their bond. Not even a hint of frustration. But, then, he’d never been that important to Master Jinn. 

The quiet settled around them, heavy and oppressive. Obi-Wan wished, vaguely, that Master Jinn would leave, the way he did every other time. He felt Master Jinn shift, after a moment, felt a touch ghost over his shoulder, drawn back before it settled.

“I’ll leave it here,” Master Jinn said, and Obi-Wan rasped a thank you as best he could. He kept his eyes squeezed shut until he heard his door close. He did not drink the tea. He could not bring himself to move.

#

Everyone around him did not seem so fixated on asking what he planned to do about the pregnancy as they had before. Obi-Wan was left to make the decision on his own. He meditated over it for what felt like days and kept running into a scar of old emotions.

He remembered too easily the agony of Xanatos’ touch. He could still smell his own blood, feel the slick of it down the insides of his thighs. He recalled, so well, the sudden shift in the Force around him, as his signature changed, returning to a baseline he’d known all his life, and--

He often broke his meditation panting, sweating down his back, with nausea climbing up the back of his throat. Obi-Wan had thought he’d dealt with the sour emotions of the event, but obviously he had been… less than successful. He spoke to Master Ghur about it, because she always listened, calm and steady and sure.

Obi-Wan wondered if carrying another child would only make the awful memories worse. He wondered, too, if maybe he could overlay the poor memories. Replace them with something - anything - else. He thought, too, about the core of warm emotion that still lived in his chest, aching. 

Satine had not wanted him to stay. Not enough to ask. And he did not blame her, he understood. She had her people to look after, marrying an offworlder would have caused so many problems and he was - well.

No alphas wanted him after they had him, anyway.

But none of that changed how he felt about Satine. He loved her, still. The pregnancy was all that tied them together. He rested his hand on his stomach, remembering the curl of her smile and the sharp blue of her eyes. He wondered what their child might look like. He wondered what she might say, if she knew. He wondered….

He meditated. He turned his options over. He talked with Master Ghur. And when he eventually decided to try once more to carry the child to term, Master Jinn nodded at the news and did not feel surprised in the least. Obi-Wan wondered if it would even matter, in the end. The healers had said, once, that his odds of successfully making it to term were even lower than the odds that he’d get pregnant.

#

They resumed their duties slowly, sent on a few missions that seemed oddly easy. Master Jinn felt strange across their bond, always alert in a way that sometimes kept Obi-Wan awake at night, his focus so sharp that it left Obi-Wan sure he should get up and pace.

The thrumming tension only grew as Obi-Wan’s stomach began to swell. Obi-Wan watched his body change; noticing it always left his pulse racing uncomfortably fast, adrenaline prickling at the inside of his veins. He loosened his belt and adjusted his robes and wept, helplessly, the first time he felt the child move.

He felt Master Jinn lingering outside of his door and tried to stifle the flood of emotion, tried to release it into the Force, mortified at the idea that Master Jinn had to be able to feel it. Master Jinn did not chide him about it, later, when Obi-Wan finally felt composed enough to leave his quarters. He only offered Obi-Wan a glass of tea and a brief warm touch on one shoulder.

The tea was nice.

The nightmares that started that evening were significantly less so. Obi-Wan woke with a cry in his throat, tearing aside his sheets, because in the dream Xanatos had been there, leaning over him with a pleased smile. He’d put his hand on Obi-Wan’s body. He’d not done anything with the Force, only pushed down and down and--

“Obi-Wan!” Master Jinn snapped, hands catching at Obi-Wan’s wrists, holding him still. Obi-Wan blinked over at him, disoriented, his heart slamming against his ribs as though desperate to escape. Master Jinn’s hair hung around his face. His eyes were wide and dark. He said, “Sh, Obi-Wan, it was only a dream.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, tugging against Master Jinn’s hold until he relented. Obi-Wan needed to tug aside his sleeping tunic, to look at his stomach, skin just starting to stretch. Everything was fine. There was no blood. No pain. He let out a shuddery breath and said, “I thought--” He found he could not, actually, speak about what he’d thought.

Master Jinn made a pained sound before he said, “It’s alright. It’s…” He trailed off. Obi-Wan could sense his emotions, they left Obi-Wan’s throat tight and stinging.

Obi-Wan swallowed, pulling on the Force. He blinked away the stinging in his eyes, and said, to spare them both, “I’d like some tea.”

The nightmares recurred, near every night that followed, leaving Obi-Wan exhausted in the mornings and with the taste of vomit growing ever more familiar in his mouth. Nothing eased them. Nothing took away the memories of the pain or the metallic scent of blood in his nose. They left Obi-Wan curled on his mattress, working to release his fear into the Force, working to acknowledge it and to let it go, as Master Ghur had tried to teach him how to do..

Some days he was more successful than others.

#

Master Jinn’s level of concern seemed especially out of place on a mission that saw them escorting a diplomatic envoy from the Senate halfway across the Core. They were to attend some kind of festival or another, a cultural affair, their orders had said. Obi-Wan could not imagine a mission less likely to involve peril, and yet Master Jinn’s emotions thrummed constantly, sharp with worry.

Master Jinn had never stretched out an arm to block his forward progress so much on any other mission. He seemed determined that Obi-Wan remain close, which was… frustrating in many ways. Obi-Wan had yet to regain any desire to stay in the company of others.

Still, in the end, Master Jinn’s precautions proved sensible. How they ended up overtaken by a pirate crew, Obi-Wan never found out. The pirate’s interest in the diplomat they were working with was, unfortunately, sudden and obvious.

Obi-Wan would have felt worse for the diplomat, if he hadn’t chosen to sell everyone else on the ship out, including Obi-Wan. It was difficult to think kindly of someone when being held by a foul smelling Wookie, especially when said Wookie had a blaster leveled against his temple and was growling threats at Master Jinn.

Obi-Wan felt as though he were looking at himself from outside of his body, in the Wookie’s unkind embrace. She had an arm curled around him, holding him tight, clawed fingers pricking at him through his robes and--

And Obi-Wan’s thoughts went somewhere far away, bringing back memories when they returned. He locked his knees, light-headed all at once, half-sure he’d heard Xanatos’ voice. He was staring at Master Jinn, only barely focusing on his features, the sudden widening of his eyes and the twist of his mouth.

The blaster hummed by Obi-Wan’s temple, priming. He’d frozen, gone cold all over, waiting for what would come next. Master Jinn moved, before the Wookie could pull the trigger, all of a sudden rushing forward, into the mass of the pirates that had filled the hall, and--

And Obi-Wan saw as much violence from his Master in the seconds that followed as he ever had in the years of his apprenticeship. It took only moments, and then the Wookie at his back was collapsing backwards, groaning miserably on her way to the ground.

“Master?” Obi-Wan asked, still blurry headed. He looked down at himself, expecting to see blood pooled around his feet.

Master Jinn took his arm and said, “This way, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan nodded. He could not seem to refocus. The past clung to each edge of his thoughts. He knew he was little use through the rest of the fight, but, luckily, it seemed all to be over.

#

Obi-Wan had recovered by the time they dropped off the diplomat - he’d betrayed them, technically, but he had the power of the Senate at his back and there was nothing they could do but let the sting of his actions go - but the weight of his failure hung heavy on his neck. He waited until they were on their way back to Coruscant to find Master Jinn, to say, quietly, “I apologize.”

Master Jinn, who had been sitting on the couch in their quarters with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, looked up and asked, “What?”

Obi-Wan kept his shoulders straight. “I let them surprise me. And I could not clear my mind. And--”

“Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn cut in, something like pain - Obi-Wan knew  _ that  _ emotion well enough to identify it easily - flowing across their bond. Master Jinn opened his mouth and then shut it again, shaking his head, once, roughly. “We should eat. And then you should rest. We’ll meditate after you’ve slept.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He was exhausted. He felt more tired every day, in all honesty. The healers said he carried the pregnancy well, but… Sometimes it did not feel like it, as his stomach stretched and grew. He hoped, vaguely, as he made his way to his bunk, that Master Jinn’s words meant he was forgiven.

#

They returned to the Temple and a new mission did not come and did not come and did not come. Obi-Wan asked Master Jinn what caused the delay two weeks into their stay, ignoring the ache of pain in his lower back and hips. There was always some new pain, he’d come to find, another discomfort to deal with every morning.

Master Jinn only shook his head, when Obi-Wan asked when they might be leaving again. “We’re staying here for a while,” he said, gaze dropping towards Obi-Wan’s stomach. “We need some time to recuperate, to find our balance again in the Force.”

Obi-Wan wanted to protest that he was fine, that he would not be a burden, that-- But Master Jinn’s expression broked no room for dissent, so he only nodded.

The months that followed were some of the most peaceful he’d ever known. He meditated in the mornings with a group led by Master Ti. Master Yoda seemed always to have questions for him about this or that, often finding him in the Room of a Thousand Fountains and sitting beside him in the grass. He even managed some saber practice, until the last two months, when he felt too large to wield a saber and his center of balance changed on a whim.

The nightmares eased, slowly, with the help of Master Ghur, but did not disappear completely. He grew used to pulling them apart afterwards, to trying to assess the causes of the upset they caused, though he already knew it so well. Thinking things through logically helped. Looking at what had happened as though it had been someone else in his stead helped, as well.

He spoke to Bant and Luminara and Quinlan, when they moved through the Temple with their Masters. He grew a bit tired of them exclaiming over his size or any potential glow about his skin, though Quinlan, at least, made no such comments. He seemed tense, thrumming with some unhappiness he wouldn’t speak of during their meetings.

Obi-Wan even visited the crèche, sometimes, watching the younglings play and laugh. He tried to imagine a child with pale hair and pale eyes growing up there and warmth spread through his chest. Satine did not want him, but he’d… he should have known she wouldn’t.

And, perhaps, he would be able to keep some part of her, anyway. Perhaps he would get a chance to see the child grow.

He made himself think, too, about what would happen if the child - a boy, the healers said - showed no Force sensitivity. The odds were good the child would have no gift with the Force. Rare were the children born with Force sensitivity, unless both parents shared the connection to the Force.

There were options, were the boy to have no ability to manipulate the Force. The Order had long ago designed processes to make sure such children went to homes that would provide them with love and care. He’d already spoken with Master Ilkor about it.

But he watched the younglings chase one another around and he thought of Satine, not the way he’d seen her last, but the way he’d grown to know her best, bedraggled and determined and beautiful, and he wondered…. 

#

Obi-Wan woke from a nightmare the day he finally went into labor. At first, he thought the pains in his stomach were nothing more than a continuation of his nighttime visions. It took some time and a cup of tea for him to realize that the waves of pain were not going away.

He’d experienced something like them before. False labor, the healers had called it, and so he did not allow the acceleration of his pulse to send him scrambling for the door. He made himself sit and wait, falling into breathing exercises. Waiting.

Eventually, the waves of pain grew close enough together that he could no longer believe they were going to fade. He stood, ignoring the shakiness in his legs, and commed Master Jinn. He felt the flare of Master Jinn’s emotions from across the Temple when Obi-Wan mentioned going to the healers.

And then Obi-Wan gathered the small bag he’d packed and walked to the healers’ wing, his pulse pounding in his ears. There’d been hours of conversation about what would happen. Obi-Wan held onto that, onto the explanations and the guidance he’d been given over the hours that followed.

It took the better part of a day to deliver the child. It didn’t feel like it, really. The waves of continual pain had an almost… blurring effect. Obi-Wan sank into the Force and it embraced him, keeping his breathing steady and even as the hours wore away. He drifted, thoughts getting far away and soft around the edges, a healer always within arm’s reach, just in case.

There was no need for a just-in-case. The child came without problem, the only worrisome moment when his water broke, late in the delivery. The hot rush of liquid threw his thoughts sideways, back into the past, and he’d cried out, hot panic suddenly in his head and then drawn away, pulled from his mind.

He recognized, distantly, the touch of Master Jinn through their bond. There was no time to dwell on the assistance, to even contemplate it. Everything moved quickly, after that moment. Nearly a day of waiting became a half-hour of healers positioning him just so and reminding him to breathe and, finally, the siren wailing of a child new to the world.

Obi-Wan laid back, dazedly, feeling strange and shivery all over as he listened to his son crying, loud and sharp. Warm sun came in through the windows to his left, bathing him in golden light as the healers brought him the child. He was…. So small, all reddened limbs and an expression screwed up in anger at the world, easing as Obi-Wan held him.

There was a shock of pale hair across the boy’s head. His eyes, when they opened, were pale and gray. Obi-Wan held him, heart clenching in his chest as emotions flowed through him, too many to identify.

Obi-Wan murmured nonsense words to the child, stroking his hair, and doing his best to follow the additional instructions issued by the healers.

#

Obi-Wan slept, after the birth. He woke to the child’s cries, tended him, and slept again. So it went for most of another day, until the healers came in and asked if he would like to see anyone else. Obi-Wan felt adrift, not fully in his body, but nodded anyway.

It was a surprise when Master Jinn was the first to step into his room.

Obi-Wan found his tongue tied, unsure what to say as his Master hesitated in the doorway. In the end, the child broke the quiet, fussing his way into wakefulness. Master Jinn crossed to him, moving like a sleepwalker, and bent down, lifting the child from his little bassinet.

Obi-Wan stared at the pair of them, thoughts of a life that could have been stinging the back of his eyes, of a daughter with reddish hair and hazel eyes and--

“He’s beautiful, Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn said, the child looking tiny in his arms. Master Jinn’s voice was thick. His emotions bled over, full of that feeling that made Obi-Wan’s throat go all tight; it spread all the way down into Obi-Wan’s chest, this time, filling up his lungs and impacting the function of his heart.

Obi-Wan swallowed, blinking rapidly and looking to the side. He wondered if Master Jinn would have thought their child beautiful. He wondered-- he cleared his throat and said, “He’s not Force sensitive.”

Master Jinn went still, just for a moment, and then nodded. “No,” he said. “He isn’t.” Outside of Obi-Wan’s room, he could hear the healers going about other business. Beyond them, he felt Bant - the only one of his friends currently at the Temple - anxious and waiting to see him. And somewhere beyond all of them, out across the void of space, Satine was probably meeting with some minister or the other, not thinking of him at all, and--

“I can take care of family placement for him,” Master Jinn said, his voice quiet. Soft. Obi-Wan blinked and looked at him, the offer a kindness he had not expected, especially from his Master. It made his ache, inside his chest, adding to all the sharp edges already cutting into him, even as he shook his head.

“Actually,” Obi-Wan said, swallowing, “I was hoping you could arrange transport.” Master Jinn looked at him, his eyes tired and shining. Obi-Wan held his gaze, barely, and added, “To Mandalore. Satine should at least know.”

Besides, the Mandalorians had strong feelings about children. Perhaps she would want the boy, even if there was no place in her life for Obi-Wan.

#

The trip to Mandalore was mostly a blur. Obi-Wan slept little. The child fussed, despite the calming influence of the Force, and often woke many times in a night. Master Jinn watched him sometimes, but never enough for Obi-Wan to get a whole night’s sleep.

He felt almost as though he’d had too much to drink by the time they reached Mandalore. The feeling persisted as he traveled down to the planet, to a set of rooms far from the palace, as Master Jinn transmitted a message to Satine in the code they’d developed while they were on the run, requesting that she visit.

Obi-Wan held the child, pacing around the space, avoiding looking out of the windows, and wondered if she would even come.

In the end, she did. She arrived alone, her familiar presence in the Force lighting up the world even before she knocked on the door. He hurried to open it, not wanting the child to wake, and found her clad in a heavy robe, rain falling down around her.

She said, “Obi-Wan, I came as soon as I--what’s that?”

She froze a half-step into the doorway, her gaze dropping to the child, cradled in his arms. Obi-Wan swallowed. He’d wanted to come here. It had been his plan. But, in the moment, he found himself hesitating. He tugged her the rest of the way into the room with his free hand and shut the door. He said, “It’s good to see you, I’ve been, of course, following the news, and--”

“Obi-Wan.” She grabbed him by the arm, her fingers strong against his skin. And as quickly as his sense of hesitation had arrived, it fled, leaving behind only the desire to tell her everything, all at once, to make her understand and to hope that she took it well. “What--”

“He’s yours,” Obi-Wan blurted, cutting her off neatly. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so off-guard. “I--during my heat--and then I didn’t want to say anything, in case I -- but he was born safe and healthy and - and not Force sensitive.”

Satine stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted though she spoke no words. The baby moved in his arms, stirring awake, and Satine’s gaze dropped. She shifted a little closer, lifting away the blanket that had fallen partially over the child’s face. A soft sound slipped from her mouth and she said, “We had a child?”

“We had a child,” Obi-Wan confirmed, and she let out a shuddery breath.

“Can I?” she asked, her hands flexing, her weight shifting from foot to foot. Obi-Wan was happy to place the boy in her arms, his chest aching sweetly as she looked at the child. Her child. His child. The boy gurgled, blowing bubbles and waving one fist through the air.

“Oh,” Satine said, and turned, sitting heavily on the end of the bed in the room. She stroked a fingertip across the boy’s brow, and only then looked up at Obi-Wan, her eyes shining and wet, a tear-track already running down the side of her nose.

“Satine?” Obi-Wan asked, concern a sour burn in his gut. He moved closer, checking on the boy. “What’s--”

“I cannot raise him,” she said, her voice thick, as though she were choking. Obi-Wan froze, ice forming on the inside of his skin. “I -- raising a child would be -- I  _ can’t  _ right now, Obi-Wan. I am - am a mother to the entire people of Mandalore and it would be terribly dangerous, for him. I’ve already - I’m making enemies, they would, if they knew I had a child….” She shuddered, pulling the boy closer, curling a hand around the back of his head.

Obi-Wan stared, unable even to blink. He said, after he found his voice, “I understand.”

She jerked her gaze up, her eyes wide and her make-up smudged. She reached out for him, his name on her lips, and he said, turning aside, “I shall find him a home. The Temple has resources to ensure that such children are--”

“What?” Satine stood, then, taking a step back, her grip tightening on the child. Her emotions changed, all at once, growing sharp. “No.” She shook her head. “No, he should stay on Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan blinked at her. He felt too tired by far to be having the conversation. He’d gotten her answer. It wasn’t the one he’d dared to hope for. He just wanted the situation to be  _ over _ . “But,” he started. “You said--” 

“I…” She looked between him and the child, sniffing. “I can’t - can’t raise him. But I have a cousin. He and his husband, they want children, but they’re both alphas. They would…” She stroked the child’s hair, “they would take good care of him. Keep him safe. Raise him with love and devotion.” Her eyes met Obi-Wan’s, bright and stunning, as ever they were. “I’d be… like an aunt to him.”

Obi-Wan stared at her, holding their child so tightly, like she did want him no matter what she said. And perhaps she did. But not enough to keep the babe. Not enough to keep Obi-Wan. He shook that thought aside, and asked, “That’s what you want?”

There was a moment of silence. He allowed himself to believe, for an instant, that she would recant it all, pull him close and kiss him with the baby between them. She said, instead, her voice cracking, “Yes. Yes, I think that’s best.”

Obi-Wan blinked away the sting in his own eyes. He nodded. He said, “Very well,” and there was really very little else for them to discuss. Obi-Wan had not named the child. Perhaps deep down, he’d always known the babe would not be his, not in any meaningful way.

He left Satine standing with the boy in the middle of the room, bouncing the child and speaking to him softly. Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder at them, allowing himself one glance, and then he turned and walked back to the shuttle, ignoring the rain beating down at his head and shoulders, soaking into his hair and robes. 

Master Jinn opened the door to the transport when Obi-Wan got closer. He stepped aside, making room for Obi-Wan to enter. He asked, quietly, “The child?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, aware the water was running off of him, making a mess on the shuttle floor. “Will be raised here,” he said, his voice curious and flat. “By a member of Satine’s family.”

“Ah,” Master Jinn said, closing the door, his emotions all contained and quiet. It made Obi-Wan feel more alone, like they were back in the early days of his apprenticeship. He hated it, could not bear it, reaching out and grabbing Master Jinn’s arm, feeling him go still.

“Master,” he said, staring forward without seeing, “you held me once.”

“Yes,” Master Jinn said, his voice thick, all at once. “But I--”

Obi-Wan didn’t want to hear anything after the “but.” He knew he should not take such an action even as he turned and fell against Master Jinn’s chest, but he felt like he might fly apart if he didn’t do  _ something _ .

He put his face down against familiar, well-worn robes, eyes squeezed shut, hoping--

And Master Jinn put one arm around him and then the other, uncaring about his sodden robes or the sounds he made. “Sh, sh,” Master Jinn hummed, standing there beside the door of the transport. Obi-Wan appreciated, for the rest of his life, that at least Master Jinn did not say that everything was alright.

They did not speak of the baby again. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two big time skips in this fic. They're both in this chapter. which is our transition point (the reason it's also SO LONG). Of special note, the warning about non-explicit mentions of non-con applies to this chapter.

The following year was always difficult for Obi-Wan to recall. He could remember the details of many of the missions he went on, but if asked how he’d felt or what he’d done with his free time, he had a difficult time answering.

Time passed away from that blurry year. His bond with Master Jinn grew steadier, which was amusing, sometimes. Obi-Wan knew he was growing closer to the time of his Knighting. It seemed that only at the end of his apprenticeship would their relationship turn to something stronger and more durable.

Master Jinn still left around his heats, but Obi-Wan expected no different. He found partners on whatever world they happened to be on during the following years, handling the issue and moving forward. It was never hard to find an alpha willing to help for a few hours.

That was all the time they were ever going to spare for him. He’d made his peace with it. He’d made his peace with many of the pains that had once torn at him so fiercely, with the help of Master Ghur. He even learned to identify the emotions he picked up from Master Jinn, sometimes, the ones that left his throat so tight, still.

He gave them names like guilt. Regret. Sorrow.

He named them, but never figured out what to do about them or how to ease them, no matter how he tried. 

The galaxy spun. Time unrolled forward. He learned and trained and focused on letting go of the tangle of emotions left behind by life. Meditation and inward consideration allowed him to pluck to pieces the knots of hurt within him, to accept his decisions and the twists of fate that had been thrown in his path, to grow, learning all the time.

He only rarely had nightmares - or sweeter dreams about a life he might have lived, one where he woke up beside Satine on Mandalore - by the time they were sent to Naboo. 

#

The trouble on Naboo led to a desperate flight and an attempt to get the Queen to safety. It led to Tatooine and Master Jinn’s acquisition of a child with sandy hair and hazel eyes. The boy’s presence in the Force was tremendous and all aglow. 

He was several years older than Obi-Wan’s child on Mandalore. A few years older, even, than Obi-Wan’s child with Master Jinn would have been, if--

Master Jinn looked abashed when he brought back the child, after they managed to all get aboard the ship, evading the strange, dark figure who chased them across the sand, his very presence tainting the feeling of the living Force. Obi-Wan had not felt someone so thoroughly in the Dark for many years.

Not since Xanatos.

Memories associated with Xanatos still increased his pulse, but he had processed them over so many years. They no longer left him with a tight, suffocating feeling in his chest. Master Jinn’s emotions - as he climbed into their little ship - left Obi-Wan with that familiar stinging tightness in his throat, even as he pushed the boy - Anakin - forward and asked Obi-Wan to help him get settled.

Anakin beamed up at Obi-Wan. He beamed at everyone, indiscriminately, radiating excitement and joy. Anakin had no apprehensions about the Trade Union or the conflict bubbling to the surface back on Naboo. He was all enthusiasm and chattering excitement, wanting to talk about everything and to anyone.

Obi-Wan seemed to be one of his favorite targets. If Anakin wasn’t talking to the Queen - Master Jinn had said there was no need to disrupt her disguise, if she wished to pass herself off as a handmaiden - he was by Obi-Wan’s side, all but bursting to ask questions about the ship, the Force, the galaxy, and anything else that happened to sleet through his mind.

And always when he was around, Obi-Wan felt the tightness in his throat, bleed-over from Master Jinn’s feelings.

So, Obi-Wan knew  _ something  _ was coming, before they ever got to Coruscant and stood before the Council. He knew Master Jinn was going to do something. He knew that whatever it was made Master Jinn feel almost sick with guilt, and so it was not much of a surprise when he revealed that he wanted to end Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship to take Anakin on as Padawan.

Obi-Wan contained his reaction - a sharp, stinging flare in his gut - to a glance, thinking of how difficult it had been to convince Master Jinn to train him, thinking about all the years spent worried that Master Jinn would set him aside at the first opportunity, and--

And he exhaled, letting those feelings go. He’d known he would be Knighted soon, anyway.

The trip back to Naboo gave him, if nothing else, something to keep his thoughts busy. It seemed not to do the same for Master Jinn, whose emotions grew only heavier throughout their journey. Obi-Wan lost track of the times his Master approached, mouth open, only to turn away again, words unspoken.

They were only hours away when Master Jinn finally knocked on the door to his quarters. Obi-Wan blinked, surprised, and stood to let him in. “Obi-Wan,” Master Jinn said, when he stepped through the door, and then winced, looking to the side. 

“I’ll make some tea,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the second-hand tightness of his throat, moving to go past.

Master Jinn caught his arm, and then removed the touch just as quickly. Obi-Wan paused anyway, blinking up at him. Waiting. Master Jinn did not make him wait for long, taking a breath and saying, quietly, “I did not intend to tell you that I thought you were ready to be Knighted in such a manner.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It’s alright,” he said, knowing that most Padawans found out through a private ceremony. He’d been looking forward to such an event. But… “I’m sure it wasn’t planned, Master.”

Master Jinn exhaled, mouth pressing thin. He reached out again, after a moment, fingers almost touching Obi-Wan’s arm. And Obi-Wan still remembered the way his hands had felt, years ago, on skin instead of robes, but he’d long ago learned how to set those thoughts aside. He asked, quietly, “Master?”

Master Jinn flexed his fingers back. He said, “There are… things I would say to you. Once you are Knighted, I--”

And whatever he might have said was interrupted, then, by Anakin’s sudden bursting into the room. The boy entered at a run, gladness spilling over through the Force as he exclaimed, “Obi-Wan! There you are! Guess what I just heard?”

He bumped into Master Jinn on his way past and ran fully into Obi-Wan, steadying himself with a hand and beaming upwards. Obi-Wan shook the remnants of Master Jinn’s emotions away, though they remained present as he turned his attention to Anakin, who delightedly explained to him the concept of a rain storm.

#

Obi-Wan thought he and Master Jinn would have time for, perhaps, a proper conversation after they resolved the situation on Naboo. That was before they ran into the Sith once more. The Dark figure radiated easy power, warping the flow of the Force around him, pulling the everpresent hum of living energy into unsettling eddies and backflows. 

The fight took all of Obi-Wan’s concentration, especially as the Sith seemed intent on focusing on  _ him _ . The dark figure pushed and shoved Master Jinn away, almost absently, yellowed eyes constantly returning to Obi-Wan.

He smelled like an alpha, and Obi-Wan watched him pass by attempts for killing blows as they circled one another, taking deep breaths. Scenting. His attentions prickled across Obi-Wan’s skin like a touch, heavy and thick with  _ intention _ , and Obi-Wan sneered at him, scalded by the invasive use of the Force.

Jedi did not touch one another in such a way with the Force. It was… a violation.

But the dark figure was not a Jedi; it was not the hungers of a Jedi that radiated out of him, sharp and considering. Obi-Wan shook aside the unease down his spine, looking for centered calm, reflecting, briefly, that he would be very relieved when they finished with the Sith.

He had dealt enough with practitioners of the Dark side. He never wanted to meet another. Not after Xanatos, who had always warped the Force to his own horrific aims. The dark figure stalked towards him again, yellow gaze roaming up and down, and Obi-Wan did not grimace at the curls of energy against his skin, though they stung like the bite of a whip.

He’d endured worse at the hands of a Sith. He’d endure whatever was necessary to distract  _ this _ one, and then they could go and collect Anakin, assist the Queen, return to Coruscant. Talk. The future seemed so clear before him, crystalized in the fight. 

That was before Master Jinn charged forward without caution, expression grim and set, attempting to engage the man in one-on-one combat. That was before Obi-Wan watched him get skewered, clean through. A killing blow.

Obi-Wan recalled little of the fight that followed. He threw himself into the Force, counting on it to catch him, and went after the Sith. His thoughts, such as they were, were all heat and direct lines, years of lightsaber training blending together.

Obi-Wan left the Sith falling into the abyss, thoughts already moving away from the man and his horrible intent as he knelt beside Master Jinn. 

Master Jinn had trained him for almost twelve years. He’d been the touchstone for almost half of Obi-Wan’s life. He’d-- Obi-Wan did not know where to touch, what to do. He leaned over, touch careful over the wound, barely aware of the words spilling from his mouth.

“The boy,” Master Jinn rasped, and it stung, knowing that, even in that moment, the  _ final  _ moment, Obi-Wan would not be first in his thoughts, but…. But Obi-Wan had always known that he was not. He made the promises Master Jinn needed to hear, his throat trying to squeeze closed, his heart threatening to tear apart in his chest.

He felt Master Jinn’s presence in the Force wavering, threatening to gutter out. Obi-Wan stroked his hair back, wishing he had just been faster, been better, been stronger, just this one time, just long enough to--

“Sh,” Master Jinn said, warmth and fondness flooding between them, all at once. He lifted a hand - Obi-Wan knew not where he found the strength - and brushed Obi-Wan’s cheek, gasping, “Obi-Wan, I have so much to tell you…” His fingers slid back, just enough to curl around the back of Obi-Wan’s head, to tug forward.

“Tell me later,” Obi-Wan said, hearing the pleading note in his voice. He looked up, hoping to see guards from the palace, hoping to see medics, begging the Force for  _ help _ . Master Jinn tightened his grip, dragging Obi-Wan’s gaze back to his eyes, so clear even with the agony.

“I’m sorry,” Master Jinn rasped, his voice little more than a whisper, and Obi-Wan shook his head. “My Obi-Wan. My. I…” He tugged again, harder.

And there was no thought to leaning closer. He felt Master Jinn marshall his strength and  _ push up _ , impossibly, off of the floor. For a moment there was a wild hope in Obi-Wan’s chest that maybe, somehow, the injury had miraculously faded away, maybe--

Master Jinn’s nose bumped his, only briefly, and then his mouth found Obi-Wan’s. The kiss was soft, shockingly so, for a moment. They had not kissed gently, really, so many years ago. Master Jinn’s fingers tightened, he pushed closer, deepening the kiss, intent and heat behind it, emotions spilling out from him freely, warm and brilliant and chokingly sharp, all at once.

Obi-Wan could not respond. He did not even know how he was supposed to respond, and never got the chance to find out. Master Jinn sighed, softly, against his mouth, and all the tension went out of him, life fleeing his body as he slipped away on the Force.

Obi-Wan made a terrible sound, thick and choking, scrambling at his shoulders and back, holding him closer, rocking.

He’d felt - for just an instant - loved and cherished and wanted, all of it stained by so  _ much  _ guilt and regret and - and he’d had no  _ idea _ , he’d never known, it didn’t make any  _ sense,  _ he’d--

And he was still trying to process it, any of it, when the guards sent by the Queen found them. 

#

Obi-Wan watched Master Jinn’s funeral pyre burn down, Anakin standing at his side. The boy felt more confused than grieved. He’d barely known Master Jinn and - if Obi-Wan recalled correctly - death had seemed a confusing subject at the boy’s age. Besides, he seemed to think that it was alright because Master Jinn had died a hero.

Obi-Wan knew that, sooner or later, he would discover that it mattered little if you died a hero. Death treated everyone the same way.

But he could not marshall the energy to provide instruction about such subjects. He felt empty inside and quiet. Far away from the muggy Naboo air and the flickering flames. Besides, there were some things that could not be taught. Some things you could only learn through experience.

Anakin reached out to him, as the ashes spiralled upwards into the sky. He curled his small fingers around Obi-Wan’s hand, pushing clumsy comfort at him through the Force. Obi-Wan made himself smile reassuringly down at the boy, the future stretching out in front of him with no guidelines, everything he’d expected thrown away and replaced.

The only thing he felt sure about was training Anakin.

Everything else he would have to make up as he went along.

#

Obi-Wan still felt like he was moving through a dream by the time they made it back to the Temple. He introduced Anakin officially to the Council, he showed the boy their quarters, and then let Anakin go explore, feeling his stunning desire to see and experience everything all at once.

Obi-Wan was aware that - perhaps - he should have stayed by Anakin’s side, but… It seemed better that Anakin not be underfoot for the next necessary step. All of Master Jinn’s things were still in their quarters. Waiting.

For a moment, Obi-Wan hesitated outside the door to Master Jinn’s room, hand on the doorknob. It was a space he’d not visited often. He imagined, stunning and sharp and clear, that when he opened the door, Master Jinn would be inside, that everything since Naboo had been nothing but a fleeting fancy, and--

And the room was empty, when Obi-Wan opened the door. Empty of Master Jinn, in any case. Obi-Wan exhaled, swallowed, and made himself step inside. There was much to do, and it was his duty to do it.

He packed and sorted and arranged all of Master Jinn’s things, making sure his hands stayed steady and ignoring the burning in his eyes. There was not much. The Jedi did not collect possessions.

He finished the task in a single afternoon, leaving the room bare of all the things that had made it Master Jinn’s, knowing that - terribly - it was to be his. He turned aside from that thought, going to the kitchen to set tea to brewing. It had not yet come to a boil when he felt Bant approaching the door.

Obi-Wan waved a hand back, absently, opening the door as she drew closer. She stepped in quietly. He could feel the brush of her mind against his, there and gone, and asked over his shoulder, “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, coming closer slowly, as though afraid to spook him. She said, only once she was close, “I heard what happened, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry.”

He swallowed. His throat seemed full of shards of glass, which was odd. He blinked his eyes, watching the water try to boil, and shook his head. He said, his thoughts all disjointed and odd, “I never knew how to please him - what he wanted from me, you know. Just that I wasn’t… enough. Now I’ll never know.”

She made a soft sound, pained, and put her hand on his back, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’ve always been enough, Obi-Wan, you just--”

“No,” he cut in, shaking his head again. “I never--and now he’s  _ dead _ , because I wasn’t, and--and I’m supposed to train the boy, Bant.” His vision had gotten all blurry and strange. Tears, he knew. Unshed, yet. “I never managed to train  _ myself _ .”

She put both hands on his shoulders and dragged him around; he had no strength left to resist her. Her eyes were huge and intent, her mouth turned down into a frown as she said, “Do you honestly not--”

“He kissed me,” Obi-Wan blurted, the words just spilling out of him, his thoughts crashing one into the other, like one of the pile-up accidents they sometimes got around the Senate, when one vessel lost control and took out dozens of others. 

Bant’s mouth snapped shut. It took her a moment to open it again. “What?” she asked.

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said, his thoughts all fuzzy and far away. “Before he died. He--and I don’t know why.”

She said nothing, to that, only shook her head and drew him closer, into an embrace. She was still rubbing a hand across his shoulders when Anakin burst into their quarters, delighted to meet another Jedi, to tell Bant all about Tatooine, Queen Amidala, and his delight with coming to the Temple.

Obi-Wan let them talk, contributing little. He felt lost inside his own head. It was… an unpleasant place to get stuck.

#

Perhaps the dreams that visited him that night should not have been a surprise. He’d always been prone to nightmares. That night, sleeping in Master Jinn’s old quarters - Anakin safely ensconced in his old room - he dreamed of Master Jinn’s death, but it did not occur as it had on Naboo.

He dreamed of it happening a dozen different times, earlier in his apprenticeship. He watched Xanatos kill his Master, watched him die full of blaster bolts, watched him simply pull apart in the Force, fading away to nothing, his eyes on Obi-Wan the entire time, pleading for help that Obi-Wan had never been able to give him.

The dream shifted, the way dreams did, wrong and jarring, into the underlevels of Naboo. Except it wasn’t Naboo, when he looked around. The halls were darker, danker, full of echoing laughter that he knew in his bones.

He recognized the complex on the little moon from some many years ago. He knew, with the awful logic of dreams, that he’d chased Xanatos into these halls. He knew, but could not stop himself from walking forward, that there were guards close by with weapons, waiting for him.

They found him. Just as they had in reality.

But it was not Xanatos they dragged him before, their fingers biting at his skin. It was the Dark figure from Naboo, the one Obi-Wan had sliced in half, and he smiled at the sight of Obi-Wan, coming closer.

The dream jerked, lurching, leaving him feeling cold metal against his cheek and hot breath against the back of his neck and  _ pain _ . He was bleeding, terribly, but that did not seem to bother the figure behind him, gripping his hips, all covered with his blood. He tried not to cry out and failed, and felt laughter, for his trouble, laughter and the press of jagged, pointed teeth into his shoulder as he tried to scramble away, wondering where Master Jinn was, wondering--

He woke with a lurch, to hands shaking him in the dark of his room.

“Wake up, wake up!” Anakin was shouting at him, his voice cracking. He’d crawled onto the bed and was breathing hard, his eyes bright in the dim light.

Obi-Wan blinked up at him, his own breath caught in his chest, and rasped, “I’m awake, it’s alright.” 

“No, it isn’t!” Anakin cried back at him, his cheeks all wet with tears. “But I’ll help you, here.” And before Obi-Wan could assure him that he knew quite well how to handle nightmares, there were hands on either side of his face.

He opened his mouth and managed to say nothing, as Anakin’s presence in the Force swept over him. Anakin did not… attempt to help him process the horror and fear from his dream. Instead, he just swamped Obi-Wan with different feelings, with affection and fondness, an impossible amount of it.

They’d only known one another for a few days, but Anakin, it seemed, had elevated Obi-Wan to a position among those he held most dear. It was a… strange feeling.

Obi-Wan managed to reach up and take Anakin’s wrist, after a moment. He managed to sit and to say, “Thank you, Anakin.”

“You’re welcome,” Anakin said, and then threw both arms around him, squeezing too tightly. “It’s okay, now. I - I know how to help with bad dreams. I used to help Mom, when she felt like that.”

Obi-Wan’s heart ached, thinking about this boy trying to help his mother through whatever nightmares had plagued her sleeping mind. He could imagine what a slave woman on a world like Tatooine might dream about, and shuddered.

“And now I’m going to help you,” Anakin said, as though he were following some internal narrative, squeezing tighter. It took almost an hour for Obi-Wan to convince him to go back to bed, and, even then, Anakin looked over his shoulder, hesitating.

Obi-Wan avoided returning to Master Jinn’s bed, though it was not yet dawn. He sighed, moving out onto the balcony inside, staring out across the Coruscanti skyline, and trying not to think about dreams or the boy he’d been entrusted with.

#

Obi-Wan trained Anakin as best he could, doubting, each step of the way, that he was doing it properly. Still, Anakin learned quickly, picking things up with almost unnerving speed in many cases. Sometimes, it seemed to Obi-Wan that he was not actually teaching Anakin, so much as helping him remember something he already knew.

That was only true of matters pertaining to more direct usages of the Force, however. Anakin had difficulties meditating and finding his center in the Force. Attaining balance was always difficult for him. He had trouble staying in his own head, his thoughts ever bouncing  _ outward _ .

Anakin’s emotions so often stained with worry and fear, and he had no ability to conceal them. They bled over into Obi-Wan’s mind with startling frequency; their bond felt so different than his connection with Master Jinn, always moving with some emotion or another.

Anakin denied his fear and anxiety the first time Obi-Wan broached the subject, looking to the side and parroting what he’d learned of the Code. Obi-Wan had sighed, holding a cup of tea and wishing - not for the first time - that the Council had agreed to let Anakin spend a few years with the younglings his age in the crèche. The training he would have gotten there would only have helped, but…

But it was left to Obi-Wan to gently suggest that fear did not go away just because you denied its existence. It took multiple conversations before he finally managed to prise free the source of Anakin’s anxiety. “It’s my mother,” he finally blurted, his face stained red with tears. “We left her on Tatooine and she’s a slave and I’m not there to look after her and - and anything could happen to her!”

Anakin was yelling by the end, objects in their quarters vibrating with the power of his emotions. He’d turned and ran before waiting for a reply, slamming the door to his quarters behind him. Obi-Wan blinked, sending soothing peace back across their bond and rubbing the back of his neck.

He knew that, technically, he should tell Anakin to release his emotions and to accept that relationships with people sometimes ended. That refusal to let someone go could lead to a dangerous attachment. That all young Jedi left behind their birth families as they were adopted into the Order.

All of that was true.

However, Obi-Wan considered, as he cleaned up their dishes from dinner, such young Jedi did not usually leave their family behind in awful situations. And, when Jedi had children who could not stay at the Temple, they did not simply throw them into the wind and hope for the best. They were placed carefully in homes where they would receive care and love.

He reached out to the Force as he considered, glancing to the side when Anakin’s door opened and he sidled out, crossing to Obi-Wan at the sink and then leaning against him. “I’m sorry,” Anakin said, his face still red from his tears, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, handing him a drying cloth and squeezing his shoulder. “I’m going to talk to the Council about your mother.”

He felt the change of Anakin’s emotions, a mix of worry and cautious joy, as Anakin looked up at him. “Really?” he asked, almost vibrating all at once. A flash of suspicion crossed his face. “Why?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, rinsing the last cup. He said, “To see what can be done.”

#

In the end, the Council yielded to Obi-Wan’s arguments. He walked out of the chambers half-sure that he’d dreamed it. They always disagreed with Master Jinn. But then, Master Jinn had never… been very good at convincing others of his point of view. He hadn’t cared enough about what anyone else thought to be any good at such a task.

Obi-Wan left the Council chambers with approval to ensure Anakin’s mother was - at least - in a safe location. Anakin wept again when Obi-Wan told him, and threw both arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, and would not release his hold for some long minutes, his face pressed to Obi-Wan’s stomach.

Eventually, his emotions calmed. Anakin hummed with nervous excitement the entire way to Tatooine. He bounced around upon finding his mother, who seemed confused and delighted at his return. Obi-Wan felt nothing but overwhelmed confusion from her at the idea that they’d come back to free her.

He allowed Anakin to explain, allowed them the time to talk to one another, standing out under the cold, immense desert sky and staring up into the unfamiliar stars. He folded his hands at his back and wondered how things were going on Mandalore, how Satine was, if the child….. 

Anakin burst out of the door at Obi-Wan’s back, careened into him, and flung arms around his waist. “Master!” he cried, overflowing with joy and relief. “Mom says she wants to go stay on Naboo. I told her Padmé wouldn’t mind. She wants to see all the water, can we take her there, please?”

Obi-Wan wondered about the likelihood that Queen Amidala would actually not mind and exhaled. It was, he supposed, worth asking her about it.

#

The Queen agreed without much discussion to allow Shmi sanctuary and a place on Naboo. Obi-Wan arranged them all transport to deliver her to the planet, listening to Anakin chatter to her about everything he had learned on the way there.

He was feeling itchy under his skin by the time they reached Naboo, his heat arriving, as it always did, directly on time. Anakin seemed distracted enough with his mother and Queen Amidala, and so Obi-Wan did not worry too much about slipping away for a few hours. He could not spare long, not with a Padawan in his care.

Fortunately, Captain Panaka remembered him from the conflict so recently settled. He seemed happy enough to help, and he was close. Obi-Wan disregarded his preference for anonymous alphas, individuals he’d never see again. The odds were good he’d not see Panaka frequently, in any case.

It was more important to stay relatively close to Anakin, to be nearby in case something went wrong, to get things sorted  _ quickly _ .

Obi-Wan slipped back into the quarters he’d been given with Anakin and Shmi before daybreak, surprised to find Shmi awake and staring out the window. He blinked at her, sore in awkward places and still feeling the last of the mental effects of his condition, and asked, “Is everything alright?”

She turned to look at him, raising a hand quickly to brush at her cheeks as she did. “Oh, yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “I was just… so much has happened.” She smiled, bright in the dimly lit room. “I never thought I’d escape Watto. Much less Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan nodded, drifting a little closer, enough to gaze out of the window. “Naboo is acceptable for you?” he asked.

She laughed, a sweet, delighted sound, and reached out to pat his arm. “I think it will be most acceptable, thank you.” She glanced back out the window. There were fountains below, working even in the predawn hours. He wondered if she’d ever seen so much water in one place before. “And thank you, for training my son. He told me the - the Council was… unsure about things.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “You need not thank me,” he said, and wished, vaguely, that he were not having this conversation while half-muddled with exhaustion and the fading remnants of hasty pleasure. “But he… he’s part of the Order, now, you understand. And when we - when we’re brought in, we don’t--”

“He cannot be always my little boy and a Jedi,” she cut in, gently, her emotions a tangle of sadness and pride. “I know. I knew when Master Jinn took him on Tatooine. But you came to retrieve me, anyway.” There was a question in her tone.

He watched the fountains, burbling along endlessly. It was beautiful, he had to admit, the entire planet lovely almost beyond belief. He still disliked being planetside. The longer he remained, the more his memories strayed to Master Jinn’s eyes at the last, empty and blank, and…

He swallowed. “The Order is our family,” he said, quietly, “but not always the only family we have. We find safe homes for our children, if they cannot touch the Force. It seemed…” He shrugged, unable to find a way to explain how it had seemed.

She hummed, apparently satisfied with the answer anyway. They watched the sun come up together, and, later in the day, when they departed, Anakin did not raise a fuss about leaving. He carried himself as befitting a Jedi, only speaking once they were in their quarters, when he said, “Master?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning at a missive just arrived from the Council. Apparently, there was a situation in their area, one the Council thought he and his Padawan ought to resolve. 

Anakin’s clumsy embrace around his ribs took him by surprise. He returned it after a moment, and Anakin said, half-hoarse, “Thank you.”

#

Years slipped by, each one seeming to go faster than the last. He watched Anakin shoot up in height, growing at a painful rate once he got sufficient nutrients from the food at the Temple. They learned to work together, and Anakin became an…. Intense student, if not always dedicated to his work.

Obi-Wan was declared a Master. They traveled to so many planets that Anakin eventually stopped commenting on how strange and beautiful they were. The galaxy spun around them, always changing, and they moved ever onward, points of serenity in all the chaos.

Obi-Wan did not always feel very serene. He slipped away when his heats came, making sure they were back on Coruscant as much as possible, so Anakin would be safe in his absence. He hurried the process; his primary goal was always ending it quickly. Any crude pleasure he gained along the way was only a side effect.

Anakin asked him about the entire process, once, around the time he grew taller than Obi-Wan. “The other omegas,” he’d said, over breakfast, while Obi-Wan was still trying to finish his tea, “they just take suppressants. Why… why don’t you?” Anakin had looked up, sideways, twisting his fork between his fingers. “Is it -- do you want… you know? A child?”

Obi-Wan thought of his child, somewhere far across the stars, hopefully growing up strong and healthy in the care of Satine’s cousin. He thought of the girl-child never born. He repressed a shudder and shook his head. “No,” he said, “not particularly. I have an allergic response to the suppressants, Anakin. I can’t take them.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, frowning and leaving the subject drop, thankfully. They didn’t speak of it much, after that, though Anakin seemed to think that Obi-Wan required him to point out when a heat was approaching. 

He stopped, after Obi-Wan told him that they didn’t just sneak up, but, still…. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin paid attention to them. He likely couldn’t help it, not as a young alpha. It seemed equally likely that he could not fully control his reactions to Obi-Wan, the hot spikes of desire that sometimes drifted across their bond, even as Anakin’s shields improved.

Obi-Wan set them all aside, helping Anakin dissolve them into the Force. Some issues were hardly unheard of, and there was nothing surprising, he suspected, about the passing wants. It would have been acting on them that caused problems, and Anakin never attempted  _ that _ .

Anakin, also, did not complain when Obi-Wan slipped away, choosing to spend the time with some friends he’d made around the Temple.

They had a system, and it worked, wonderfully, until Deneb.

#

Anakin turned nineteen a few months before Deneb. He’d been dropping hints about his readiness for Knighthood for almost as long. He was young for it, and they both knew it, but… The majority of Padawans trained with a Master for between ten and fifteen years.

Obi-Wan had trained Anakin for ten years. A Knighting wasn’t… without precedent, when he thought about it that way. But he remained unconvinced that Anakin was ready. He had so much impatience in him, and an almost stubborn belief that things would just… work out, if he tried hard enough.

The universe had taught Obi-Wan - if it had taught him nothing else - that sheer determination was not enough to make things happen as you wanted them to occur. Sometimes, you did everything you could, you did everything possible, and everything fell apart, anyway.

Everything fell apart on Deneb.

#

Afterwards, Obi-Wan would not be able to pinpoint when everything went wrong. Their mission had been proceeding as planned for days. They’d been meeting with members of the two major factions on the small planet, working to help them draw-up a treaty to end the decades of conflict between them.

Anakin had been impatient with all the meetings and talk, but he’d been holding his ire in check. Obi-Wan had been feeling good about their odds of wrapping the entire thing up within a day or two, which was important, as he needed to go back to Coruscant, if at all possible. 

He had been close to a heat, but not concerned about it. Even if they did not make it back, there were alphas on Deneb, and Anakin was a man grown. He could safely stay in their apartments while Obi-Wan spent a few hours out and about.

And then there was a bombing at one of the peace summits. It was hardly the first bombing Obi-Wan had lived through. They got out the survivors, they brushed themselves off. Obi-Wan prepared to track down the perpetrators, planned to soothe tempers, already working to determine the best way to get things back on track.

He hadn’t expected to get blamed for the attack; they’d been  _ caught  _ in it, for the Force’s sake. 

He certainly had not anticipated the sheer number of guards sent to arrest them, or the Force suppressing bracelets, or, in the end, the prison they were thrown into. He was not sure, even, that he’d convinced their captors to send a message to the Temple before they were shoved into a cell.

Force suppressants always gave Obi-Wan a headache, but he’d been subjected to such dampening before. He could think around it. Anakin took it worse, only half-sensible as they were shut in. Obi-Wan looked around - they were in a cell with open bars, there were plenty of other beings in the surrounding cells - and bent to help Anakin.

Anakin grabbed at him, fingers digging into Obi-Wan’s arms, his color terrible and his eyes all pupils. He gasped, “Master Obi-Wan, I can’t--”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, getting him to sit against the far wall of the cell, away from the bars that would have allowed other prisoners to reach in and touch him. “I know, it’s alright.”

Anakin laughed, pitchy, blinking his shining eyes rapidly. “It’s not alright,” he said, “I can’t--I can’t feel anything.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan told him again, kneeling in front of him. “The strangeness of it will pass, after a while. It’s easier if you center yourself. I need you to breathe with me, Anakin.” Anakin’s eyes met his; he watched Anakin struggle, for a moment, before matching Obi-Wan’s breath and regaining some of his color. “It’s the collars,” he said, when he thought Anakin was really listening once more. “They block the Force. It’s alright.”

Anakin nodded and looked to the side. “Of course,” he said, “that’s… we need to get out of here.”

Obi-Wan found he did not disagree, standing to give Anakin room to regain his composure and looking around. The cell itself was tiny, perhaps just long enough for him to lay down across the floor. Anakin would have to bend his legs to fit. They were packed in with many other similarly sized cells, many - though not all - of them full of other prisoners.

The prisoners had an exhausted, dirty look about them. Many were curled up and sleeping, though a few watched with dark, uncaring eyes. They were all of them covered with a purplish dust. It lay across everything in the prison, rising from the floor with their movements.

Obi-Wan tried the door, but the lock appeared to be the only thing well made in the entire vicinity. It was of some kind of technology he did not recognize. Not that technology was his forte. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Anakin, why don’t you come look at this?”

Anakin always felt better when he had a task in front of him, in any case. Obi-Wan didn’t believe he’d be able to disengage the lock, but it would give him something to focus on besides the loss of the Force.

He patted Anakin’s shoulder as he settled by the lock, looking down the hall outside their cell.

There was some kind of open central area beyond the hall. More cells beyond that central area. The central area was near empty, but Obi-Wan saw chains, here and there, attached to the floor. There were strange stains on the stone, ones familiar enough to Obi-Wan, who knew what blood looked like, no matter where it appeared.

Obi-Wan did not need the Force to feel the sense of dread and hopelessness in that underground place. He breathed it in with each inhale, feeling it try to spread through him.

#

Anakin had not opened their cell by the time morning came. Guards - armed with electroprods - appeared along with day-break. Everyone in the cells around them stood, shuffling towards the entrance to their cells, heads down and eyes on the floor.

The guards opened one door after another, prodding out the people inside, who flowed out as though they knew what to expect, all walking in the same direction. Each person was given a small wrapped package as they stepped out. Obi-Wan watched the guards get closer, and Anakin leaned in, hissing, “We could take them.”

“Be patient,” Obi-Wan murmured back, feeling the weight of the collar around his neck and the damage he’d sustained in their capture the day previous. They did not have enough information to--

Anakin lunged at the guards as soon as they opened the cell, a flurry of blows, all well-placed. One of them did something with a bracer he wore, and Anakin hit the floor, spine bowing back, a moment later. 

They still hit him with the electroprods, laughing. Obi-Wan jerked forward, falling half-over him, taking one of the blows to his back as he fisted a hand in Anakin’s robes, trying to jerk him out of the path. The sound of laughter overhead increased, ugly and sharp. “Please,” Obi-Wan said, looking up through the pain, “there’s been some kind of mistake, we don’t--”

The closest guard kicked out at him. Obi-Wan saw it coming and shifted, trying to make it look as though he’d taken the blow. “Prisoners don’t speak,” the guard said, staring down at him with a grin. “Let that be a lesson to you. Prisoners do as they’re told. Get up.”

Obi-Wan looked around at the other prisoners, shuffling by with no regard for what was happening, and pushed to his feet, hauling Anakin along. “Walk,” the guard said, with a jerk of his chin. “No rations for you today, for disobedience.” 

Obi-Wan’s stomach cramped in protest, but he had gone longer without food. He kept his mouth shut and pulled Anakin along, curious to see where they were going, and what new deprivations possibly awaited them. “I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin said, quietly, as the guards moved past them. “I thought I could…”

“It’s alright, Anakin. We’ll…” He trailed off as they were led out of the prison facility, he supposed. Space opened around them, though they were still under the ground. A mine, all dimly lit and full of stinking air, lay before them. The prisoners followed small paths, disappearing into tunnels and down holes, all silently.

Obi-Wan swallowed and finished, “We’ll figure it out.”

#

They were expected to work in the mines for most of the hours of the day. There were no breaks, no opportunities for rest, and no food to be found down in the tunnels. There were buckets of tepid water, here and there, which they were allowed to drink from using their filthy hands.

They were expected to dig some kind of purple mineral from the stone, loading it into huge floating containers under the watchful eyes of the guards. Any presumption of laziness was met with immediate retribution, as was any attempt at rebellion.

Obi-Wan discovered rebellion to be as simple as meeting a guard’s gaze head-on, and lay against the rocks in the aftermath of the electroshock, breathing through the pain. Anakin jerked forward as he went down - towards the guard, not Obi-Wan - and Obi-Wan managed to grab him in passing, hissing, “Don’t.”

He received another shock for speaking in the presence of a guard.

“He said,” Anakin said, once the guard had left them and Obi-Wan had come back into his head, “that you don’t get rations tomorrow, either. For your behavior.” Anakin looked ready to murder someone, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes narrowed, his hands ever forming fists.

“Oh, wonderful,” Obi-Wan said, brushing himself off. “Good to know we’re dealing with reasonable individuals.”

“Master,” Anakin said, his anger dropping for a moment, something in his tone changing with his eyes. “They’ve made us slaves.” His voice cracked.

Obi-Wan swallowed, trying to push away the last traces of the pain and fuzziness around his thoughts. “Well, then,” he said, gripping Anakin’s arm, squeezing until Anakin looked at him, “we’ll have to show them what a mistake they’ve made, hm?”

Anakin nodded, jerkily, after a moment. They returned to their labors, before another guard could return to find them.

#

Anakin insisted on splitting his rations the following day, not that there was much to share. The food inside the packet looked more like gravel to Obi-Wan than anything edible. It left a gritty texture behind on his tongue, which did not go away even after he drank water. Still, it eased some of the painful ache from his stomach.

They worked. The labor was largely mindless, which Obi-Wan appreciated. He spent the time counting other prisoners, counting guards, trying to figure out how they operated the sensors at their wrists. They did not all have the controls, he noticed. Only some of them.

They all had the electroprods.

Obi-Wan thought and formed plans and watched. They all fell away, temporarily, when a tunnel collapsed close to them. Obi-Wan ran to the sound of screams and confusion - he ever had - and found the surrounding halls choked with dust and confusion.

The stone had fallen in great chunks, filling the tunnel. One of the other prisoners had been caught in the rockfall - perhaps more than one, Obi-Wan thought, plans to deal with the situation streaming through his thoughts - and she was reaching out, weeping, pleading for help.

Obi-Wan reached for the Force and got no response. But the Force was not the only way to solve a problem. “Anakin,” he said, moving forward to brace on one side of the rock. But Anakin had not followed him, they’d gotten separated. It mattered little. If he could just--

A guard stepped up. Obi-Wan assumed, foolishly, that the man intended to help.

The man put the tip of his elecroprod against the trapped woman’s neck and activated it. Obi-Wan’s mind went empty. He was not thinking of anything when he lunged at the man, blows landing through muscle memory as disgust and anger moved through him and--

And it might have worked, if not for all the other guards, drawn by the commotion. A crashing wave of pain from the collar took him to his knees. Another sprawled him onto his side. And then there was electricity. And then there were blows, fists and feet and--

#

Obi-Wan woke up disoriented. His head was on something soft. He blinked and groaned, because one of his eyes felt like it was on fire. “Sh, sh,” Anakin said, a hand bracing on his shoulder, holding him still. He appeared to be lying sideways, his head pillowed on Anakin’s lap. “Don’t move. You’re in… don’t move.”

Obi-Wan kept the burning eye closed. Damage to the eyelid, he thought. He catalogued his other injuries, as quickly as possible. A few broken ribs, perhaps. They’d left his arms and legs unbroken. His back was one big explosion of pain, traveling up to his head and making a home there.

“What happened?” he asked. His tongue tried to stick to the roof of his mouth. He tasted blood when he spoke. The insides of his cheeks were ragged.

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, his voice wavering. “I don’t - I looked for you, but I couldn’t sense you and - and they brought me back here, eventually, and you were here. Like this. I--”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said. He did not require the Force to know Anakin was upset. His apprentice always wore his emotions so openly, loud for everyone to see.

“It’s--Master!” Anakin protested. “It’s not alright. You’re--”

Obi-Wan reached out, carefully, and managed to catch Anakin’s waving arm. He squeezed, trying to put as much comfort into the gesture as he could. “We are both alive,” he said. “And I learned much about the functions of the weapons used by the guards.”

Anakin was silent for a moment, thighs tense under Obi-Wan’s head. He let out a ragged little breath, trying to master himself, and then said, “Alright. I - I’ve tended your wounds as best I could. But you need actual medical treatment.”

“I’m sure you did a fine job,” Obi-Wan said, but his eyes were growing heavy and he seemed to have run out of energy. Anakin said something else, but the words passed right through Obi-Wan’s head and he slept once more.

#

Obi-Wan’s recovery never quite completed itself. There was no time to rest, to allow his body to heal. Still, some of the bruises faded over the coming days. He received no further injuries, possibly because Anakin haunted every one of his footsteps, directing him ever away from the guards.

Days passed. Anakin asked why the Council had not sent them back-up, yet. Obi-Wan would not be surprised if other Jedi were not on their way, but…. Whether or not they would be found….

He did not say that to Anakin, who needed reassurance, not more worries. Besides, Obi-Wan felt certain they’d be able to get themselves out. He’d been paying attention to the lay-out of the tunnels, intrigued by the realization that the stone they mined left through different passages.

Which meant there had to be other paths to the surface. Obi-Wan shared the information with Anakin, under his breath over their gravelly food, keeping his eyes up to watch for guards, watching relief settle across Anakin’s expression with the first hint of hope for a way out.

They just needed to learn the guards’ schedules. They needed to find out how many might guard the exit tunnels. And they needed some way to deal with the electroprods and collars. It all felt… doable. Planning soothed a hot ache of worry in Obi-Wan’s chest. They’d been in worse situations, he knew. This was just… a fresh challenge.

They were planning one morning when the guards failed to carry out their usual prod and shuffle to the mines. Instead, they left many of the cages shut, opening one Obi-Wan could only barely see and reaching in to drag out only one of the occupants, a man who immediately started yelling and thrashing, until the guards applied the electricity long enough to plunge him into silence.

“What’s going on?” Anakin asked, drifting closer to the bars as the guards applied the electroprod, laughing. Obi-Wan looked around the cellblock, a bad feeling settling in his gut. The rest of the prisoners were quiet. Many were sitting wedged into the corners of their cells, their arms over their heads or their hands pressed against their ears.

A few were standing right at the doors to the cage, their eyes wide and their expressions fierce and intent, but not with anger.

Obi-Wan swallowed and took a deep breath. The place always stunk. The smell of unwashed bodies and waste clogged the air. But, below that, there were certain scents that ever clamored for attention, alpha musk and, rarer, due to suppressants, omega pheromones and--

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan rasped, at the door beside Anakin in an instant, hands at the lock.The guards had dragged the limp man into the central area, the space that Obi-Wan had never seen used. They dropped him to the ground and knelt, fitting chains to his wrists. His ankles.

“What?” Anakin demanded, while Obi-Wan’s pulse jittered and jumped. “Master, what?”

“He’s in heat,” Obi-Wan said, smelling the too-sweet scent of it, his gut a rock, and--

“I know,” Anakin said, flushing, looking to the side. “I mean. I can--” he gestured to himself. “I can tell. But I don’t--”

The guards left the unconscious man where he lay, laughing amongst themselves as they moved down the cell block. Obi-Wan made a sound in the back of his throat, unable to stop it. He threw his shoulder against the door when the guards opened the first cage, in front of one of the alphas who had just been standing, waiting, and they knew what was happening, they all knew, they were all--

“Stop,” Anakin said, “stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!” He grabbed Obi-Wan by the shoulders and pulled him back. 

“They’re going to--”

“Yes,” Anakin said, his eyes wide and horrified. “But there’s nothing you can do and--” and he cut off, at the first pleased grunt, accompanied by a confused noise, quickly changing to panic, to hurt, to--

There was nothing they could do, nothing but listen to it happen, Obi-Wan feeling bile in the back of his throat, tasting vomit in his mouth. The guards dragged the poor man back to his cell when it was over and left him laying there, insensate. Obi-Wan stared at them, every one of the guards, each one of the alphas who had  _ waited _ , and felt something cold inside of him.

Maybe the guards sensed his attention. Maybe they would have passed by his cell even if he’d been sitting in the corner with his gaze turned away. Whatever the reason, they passed by, one of them leaning against the bars, winking when he asked, “Enjoy the show, sweetheart?”

Obi-Wan said nothing. He would not give them the pleasure of a response. The guard grinned, something lewd in the expression and the way his gaze slid up and down, taking a deep breath. “Hope you did. We all know you’re next.”

Obi-Wan felt a response on the tip of his tongue. Anakin jerked towards the bars before it could escape, a growl in his throat, spreading into his chest and getting deeper. He’d grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and pushed him back a step. The guards laughed, nudging at one another as they moved off.

“Anakin--” Obi-Wan started, and Anakin turned, his eyes wide and his jaw tight.

“We need to get out of here,” Anakin said. “Right now.” 

#

They increased their efforts to prepare for their escape. Obi-Wan even managed to snag one of the guard’s control bracers. The man had taken it off to rub at the skin beneath and Obi-Wan had learned how to move silently and quickly long ago. He had the thing hidden and was down the hall before the guard ever finished scratching himself.

He gave the piece of machinery to Anakin. Obi-Wan had a passable understanding of electronics on a good day. Anakin could make them do incredible things. He had a gift for circuits and wiring.

And, besides, Obi-Wan’s sense of focus was starting to slip as he grew warmer and warmer under his skin. He caught Anakin frowning his way, more and more often, as the days slipped past.

Obi-Wan avoided looking at the chains in the middle of the floor. He avoided thinking about the other omega, who had disappeared two days after the attack. He hoped, miserably, that there were other Jedi up above, that they would be found, that this would  _ end _ .

He grew warmer. And warmer, until the night he was woken feeling itchy and achy in his skin. He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling of their cell, cursing his biology in a way he had not since he was thirteen and worried it would cost him his apprenticeship.

Anakin moved in the darkness of the cell. He was pacing, Obi-Wan realized, back and forth in the minimal space. Obi-Wan sighed and pushed to sit up. He would meditate. Try to center himself. Try to prepare for what was to come when the guards arrived and recognized his condition. He said, quietly, not wanting to wake anyone around them, “I’d - I’d appreciate it if you did not…. Watch.”

Anakin froze. He answered back, equally quiet, “What?”

“When they come for me,” Obi-Wan said, trying to send his thoughts far away. He’d done it before. “I don’t want--”

“I’m not going to let them do that to you,” Anakin said, moving again, all at once. He crossed the small distance and crouched in front of Obi-Wan, his eyes catching the scant light in the cell-block. He jutted his jaw forward, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You can’t fight them all,” he said. “So, just--”

“I’m not going to fight them,” Anakin said, quiet, miserable. Obi-Wan blinked at him, uncomprehending. Anakin looked to the side, swallowing hard. “If your heat is over,” he gritted out. “They won’t hurt you like that.”

“Anakin--”

“I can help you end it,” Anakin plowed on. “Now. Before they even realize what’s happening.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. Anakin had grown taller than him, yes, had even matched his strength, of late, but-- “You’re my apprentice,” he said, memories of Master Jinn cluttering his head, making him want to pull his arms in close to his chest, shaking his head. “I’ll not ask you to--”

“ _ You’re _ not asking,” Anakin cut in, eyes blazing and intent, his hands clenched tight. “And - and we’re a team, too, before anything else. We look out for each other. I can help you with this. I’m  _ going  _ to help you with this. And then we’re going to get out of this kriffing place.” And, as though decided by his own words, Anakin took a deep breath, reached out, and cupped Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, planning another protest, and Anakin kissed him. It was awkward, all teeth catching together. Anakin made a frustrated little sound and shifted, and--and Obi-Wan was only in the beginning stages of his heat, but it was enough to flood him with warmth all over.

And he tried to think logically. He could push Anakin away. He could wait for the guards in the morning. He could let them chain him to the ground and allow some other alpha to - to abuse him and--

And then he would be hurt, injured more than he already was. They’d dragged the other omega away, to who knew where. If they dragged him away, too, Anakin would be alone in this place. Their odds of escaping together were low. Anakin’s odds of escaping alone were abysmal. 

And he knew Anakin, better than he’d ever known anyone but Master Jinn. He understood Anakin’s fierce protective streak, his need to ensure the safety of those he cared about. He did not know exactly what watching would do to Anakin, especially if he thought there was a way he could have helped, but…

“Let me do this,” Anakin panted against Obi-Wan’s mouth, so close and so quiet. “Let me save  _ you  _ this time, please.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. Nodded. He did not like the idea - hated it, in fact, viscerally - but all of the alternatives were worse. He said, whispering, “We’ll have to be quiet. Quick.” He did not know what the guards would do, if they found their plans in the midst of disruption, but he could guess.

Anakin nodded, leaning his forehead against Obi-Wan’s just for a moment. “It’s going to be alright,” Anakin said, and kissed him again.

They did not linger over soft touches or enjoyment. Obi-Wan doubted very much Anakin wanted that from him, anyway. This was just - just a necessity. He felt grateful that his heat was moving along quickly enough for him to need no extra… stimulation. The close proximity to an alpha was helping that along, his body reacting in all the right ways, getting warmer with each beat of his heart. 

Evidently, Anakin did not require additional stimulation, either. 

He was hard already, gasping a bit when Obi-Wan brushed an exploratory touch below his belt, though Obi-Wan tried to swallow the sound with his mouth. Anakin took that as an invitation to kiss him harder, fiercely, for a moment, before pulling back a bit, shaking his head, visibly trying to focus. “I--” he cleared his throat. “We need to - to not make a commotion. I thought, just--come here.”

Anakin abandoned his attempts to verbally explain, tugging Obi-Wan down, back to the ground, stretched on his side. Anakin made little displeased noises, tugging until Obi-Wan faced the far wall of their cell. Obi-Wan started, “Anakin, what--”

Hands at his belt stilled his tongue. Anakin tugged at his breeches, and Obi-Wan could only help as best he could, trying to keep the sound of shifting fabric quiet. The air felt cold on his skin, the ground under his hip was gritty and rough, already scratching at him.

All of that felt far away as Anakin stretched out behind him, breath at Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan listened to him shift fabric around, shivering when he snugged closer. “I - Obi-Wan,” he whispered, lips brushing the edges of Obi-Wan’s ear, sparking frissions of pleasure, despite everything, “I know that we should - I shouldn’t just --” he nudged his hips forward, just a bit, in explanation for the words he couldn’t find, and he was hard and leaking, already, the head of his cock sliding over skin “--but, but my hands, they’re all--”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan whispered, because Anakin was growing louder with each word, his tension and upset bleeding across through the Force. They had not had the opportunity to wash in so long. There was dust and filth caked to both of their hands, coating their fingers. Obi-Wan avoided touching his skin or his face, for rubbing the dust against skin had an abrasive effect.

He could only imagine what it would do to his  _ insides _ .

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Anakin rasped, still rutting against him, as though he could not stop himself. He likely could not. Obi-Wan knew Anakin found ways to… soothe his desires with others of like intention, back on Coruscant. But Anakin had never come back from one of his little expeditions smelling of satisfied omega.

“I’ll be fine. Just go slowly,” Obi-Wan murmured, because he had learned long ago how to deal with discomfort. They had no feasible alternatives, anyway. Anakin, apparently, needed no further convincing. He nodded, still pressed so close, and shifted.

He closed a hand on Obi-Wan’s hip, steadying, pushing him just a little forward, and--

Obi-Wan focused on keeping his breathing level, on keeping any sounds inside his chest. He felt each little move forward, his body stretching to give way before the implacable press. Laying on his side, the most he could do was bend one leg forward, trying to provide more space, so desperately aware of Anakin’s breath on his neck, the clench of Anakin’s hand on his hip, and the press in of his cock.

Anakin exhaled shakily when he bottomed out, fingers gripping tight at Obi-Wan’s flesh. He felt wound tight, shifting forward to press his chest to Obi-Wan’s back, snugging his legs up behind Obi-Wan’s. He shifted his arm forward to curl around Obi-Wan’s chest, holding him tight. For a moment, he did not move at all after that, just - just pressed in as deep as he could get, breathing raggedly.

If someone were to look in, perhaps they would only look as though they were sleeping, sharing body heat to save from freezing to death. 

No one around them had sang out, yet. None of their fellow prisoners had done more than snore. They continued to snore and dream and whimper as Anakin finally shifted, just barely, back and forward, moaning with the slide forward.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to chide - it  _ had  _ felt good, but - and Anakin nudged aside his collar, pressing his mouth to the back of Obi-Wan’s shoulder and-- and the next time he pushed in he muffled the sound there. His teeth scraped, just a bit, with each short thrust, dragging over Obi-Wan’s skin.

They could not go quickly, nor hard. It was just - just a slow rocking together, Anakin shifted a tiny bit every few thrusts, never releasing his hold, until he changed position enough to grind the head of his cock against a spot that made Obi-Wan jerk all over, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to keep any sounds inside.

He felt Anakin’s lips quirk against his skin, felt his arm tighten, just a little. And then Anakin stayed exactly where he was, each thrust so short and sharp that the stimulation felt near constant. Obi-Wan grew hot for the first time since they’d arrived, sweat beading under his clothing, soaking his back, his cock exposed and untouched and--and if Anakin kept up his movements, Obi-Wan was actually, somehow, going to find some pleasure in this terrible place, which was--

Not going to happen, apparently. He felt it when Anakin’s knot began to swell, unsurprisingly quickly. He’d not had the experience of helping an omega with a heat before. Really, he’d lasted longer than Obi-Wan expected, even with the challenges inherent in their position.

Anakin’s breathing got ragged, his thrusts jerky, before he muffled a sound against Obi-Wan’s skin and pushed in one last time, knot swelling all at once, locking them together. Obi-Wan tingled all over, bubbling with desires not quite fulfilled, but this was about preventing what the guards planned, not finding physical pleasure.

He worked to slow his breathing, his cock hard and aching, terribly aware of Anakin inside him, behind him, curled around him. Anakin mouthed at his shoulder and the back of his neck, making soft little sounds, soothing, as he did. When he regained his ability to speak, the first thing he said was, “I want to touch you.”

Obi-Wan quirked a fast smile at the wall in the darkness. “You are touching me,” he murmured, quietly.

Anakin grunted, shaking his head, “No. I mean. I want to touch your cock.” Obi-Wan shivered down his back at the rasp of the words over his dampened skin, sensitive from Anakin’s attentions. He’d had partners who enjoyed talking before. It was… always interesting.

Anakin must have noticed the shiver, or perhaps his scent had changed slightly, because Anakin shifted, knot moving just a little, leaving a groan in Obi-Wan’s throat. Anakin said, “I want to - to stroke you. To make you feel - feel as good as I feel. Right now.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, half trying to get him to be quiet, half because he didn’t want Anakin to stop. 

“I want you to come on my knot,” Anakin ground out, the words barely audible against Obi-Wan’s throat as he shifted again, and Obi-Wan grabbed his arm, squeezing. What he wouldn’t give for  _ one  _ clean hand, what--

“I want…” Anakin trailed off, with a ragged little sound, pulling Obi-Wan’s shirt down, over his cock, fingers rubbing soft over fabric, just a tease of pressure, not enough to abrade. “Please,” Anakin panted, “please, let me have it, let me--”

Obi-Wan’s orgasm left him breathing hard, aware he’d just made a tremendous mess all over the only shirt he had in the whole accursed mine, and barely caring about it at the moment. Anakin made a pleased humming sound, nuzzling against his hair, and Obi-Wan felt pliant and warm when Anakin’s knot went down and he started moving again. 

They managed to couple twice more before the guards finally came for them. Anakin had not quite finished, though Obi-Wan’s hormones had already begun to level, the heat passing in those long, quiet hours of the night. 

Anakin, apparently, did not want to risk it. As the lights came on, revealing what they had been doing, as the guards approached, shouting protests, he moved, rolling Obi-Wan over to his stomach, hauling his hips up, and, for the first time, thrusting hard and deep.

Obi-Wan cried out, surprised by the sudden change, arms crossed on the ground, keeping his face off of the rough floor. Anakin had both hands on his hips, breathing hard, shifting just so and--and oh, it felt better than it should, with the sudden jeering shouts from all the prisoners around them, and the guards yanking open the cell door.

Anakin shoved into him once more, knot swelling, connecting them. Obi-Wan could see his expression, craning to look over his shoulder. Anakin was glaring openly at the guards, breathing hard, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “Stay away,” Anakin snapped, voice thick, the words hitting Obi-Wan unexpectedly in the gut, with shock and something else, something headier that went right to his aching cock. “You can’t have him, now.”

One of the guards took a step forward, weapon raised, and Anakin threw himself forward, over Obi-Wan’s back, the impact of the blows that followed translating through their connected bodies. Obi-Wan tried to shove him to the side, tried to take his portion of the punishment, but Anakin had him pinned and would not be budged, panting against Obi-Wan’s shoulders until it ended.

#

They did not speak of what they’d done, in the days that followed, but Anakin slept closer to him in their little cell. They did not repeat the actions, but Anakin’s gaze followed him as they worked, as they schemed, as they built their plan of escape.

Anakin rumbled, in his chest, when guards and other prisoners got too close, his eyes getting darker. Obi-Wan should have expected such a reaction, and was too tired, in any case, to protest it too much.

He could only be grateful that they did not have to wait much longer to enact their escape. Anakin seemed bound and determined to get them out, fixating on the control device, making a dark, pleased sound when he finally figured it out.

They were lucky, Obi-Wan knew, that the devices could be used to remove the collars around their neck. Once that was accomplished, the rest of the escape became much, much easier. Their tormentors had no real defense to the use of the Force.

They walked out into the light, leading the other prisoners at their backs, less than a week after Obi-Wan’s heat. They met the other Jedi sent to help them - Luminara had come to his rescue, her Padawan by her side - coming out of the tunnels.

“I see you’ve been getting into trouble,” Luminara said, offering out a hand to keep Obi-Wan steady - he’d taken serious injuries in their escape - while the released prisoners miled around them, many weeping, others fallen to the ground.

“Oh, nothing we couldn’t handle,” Obi-Wan said, and she shook her head, and led them through the city to her transport, to food and a fresher, and a place to sleep that wasn’t the cold, hard floor.

#

It took several days for them to actually leave the planet. Their little escape - and the release of the prisoners - had increased the tensions in an already tense environment. They did what they could to settle things, to calm all the flaring tempers. When open war no longer seemed to be on the table, they left, leaving the final resolution in Luminara’s capable hands.

They were both due for some time in the healers’ wing, upon their return to Coruscant. Obi-Wan looked forward to it, holding out less excitement to the inevitable questioning from the Council. He broached the subject with Anakin on their first night aboard their ship, while Anakin fussed over tending the wound on his shoulder; a blaster bolt had gone clean through in their escape.

Obi-Wan watched him work, absently, and said, “The Council will speak with us both, when we get back. Separately, most likely.”

Anakin went still, his hands on the bandages over Obi-Wan’s skin. He frowned. “What? Why?”

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shrug. He doubted the movement would be in any way pleasant. He was not entirely sure how much he should say about the inevitable discussions, but he didn’t want Anakin thrown into them without warning, as he had been, once, so long ago. “They’ll want to ensure that I did not… take advantage of you. During my heat, it’s--”

“What?” Anakin straightened away from him, the tips of his ears staining crimson. “That’s--why would anyone think that, I--”

“Because I’m your Master,” Obi-Wan said, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. He felt exhausted still, from the ordeal, not recovering as quickly as he’d expected. “And you are my Padawan. I’m responsible for you. I’m supposed to look after you, not--”

“Sometimes, I get to look after you,” Anakin said, his tone all sharp and sullen. He stood; a moment later a blanket settled over Obi-Wan. 

“Wait, I’m going to go to my bunk,” Obi-Wan said, blearily. Anakin said something back, sharp, but Obi-Wan was already half asleep by then, and did not catch it. When he woke some hours later, it was to a steady heartbeat under his ear, both of them slouched to the side on the couch, Anakin frowning even in his sleep, one arm fallen across Obi-Wan’s ribs.

Obi-Wan disentangled himself carefully, got up, and made them both some tea.

#

The Council had just as many questions as Obi-Wan expected. He answered them as honestly as he could, despite any discomfort or embarrassment. They had both done what seemed best in the moment, and he willingly allowed Master Yoda to sift through his recollections, to see what his motives had been, to ensure that he had not intended any mistreatment of his Padawan.

He still felt awful to have even asked it of Anakin, but he could too easily imagine how Anakin would have reacted to the alternative, and it left an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He knew Anakin to be a good and caring young man. But there was a darkness in him, and there always had been, lurking in the corners of his heart.

Obi-Wan shook those thoughts to the side as the Council resumed their questioning.

They released him, eventually, and he nodded to Anakin in the hall outside. He’d told Anakin he could wait in their quarters, but had never entertained any doubts that Anakin would do anything but stay close, pacing in the hall, his agitation pricking at Obi-Wan’s senses through the hearing.

Anakin came back from the questioning in a dark temper and prowled around their quarters. He only agreed to meditate reluctantly, and said, as they settled across from one another on their mats, “I’m going to be Knighted soon.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “There’s no need to rush these things, Anakin, you--”

“I’m not trying to rush,” he said, jaw set mulishly. “I’m just… I think I’m ready. Or I’ll be ready. Soon. And then I…” He looked to the side, ears red all over again. “Then I won’t be your Padawan anymore.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Anakin’s emotions were all tangled up, making them difficult to read. He felt… determined, though. There was want there, also, poorly buried and shining outward, and….

And Obi-Wan swallowed. He knew Anakin very well. Better than anyone. Well enough to know that Anakin cared, perhaps, more than he should about certain people in his life. That he had difficulties letting go.

Obi-Wan shivered, thoughts slipping down into sideways considerations, about next year and the year after, about things he knew would not come to pass. It was foolish to even consider them. He said, quietly, “This is a discussion for another time, Anakin.”

#

Master Jinn had not wanted Obi-Wan - or  _ had _ , but refused to allow Obi-Wan to know that until his death - after their single shared heat. But Anakin was not Master Jinn. He had none of that control. His bond with Obi-Wan was always full of different emotions, some fleeting, some lingering.

He watched Obi-Wan, throughout their time in the Temple, lingering close so much of the time. It was enough to make Obi-Wan wonder, despite all of his best efforts, to stir the beginnings of considerations regarding the future in his chest, things he had not thought about for almost a decade.

Those considerations were on his mind when they were given their next mission, something relatively simple. Protecting Senator Amidala should have been a pleasant break from their usual trips across the galaxy.

It did not, someow, end up that way.

#

Obi-Wan discovered an entire army of cloned men on Kamino, while Anakin worked to keep Senator Amidala safe and sound on Naboo; he’d no doubt enjoy the chance to visit with Shmi, as well. Obi-Wan took some measure of comfort in knowing that Anakin would be alright, at least, as he traveled to Geonosis and everything fell apart.

That was, of course, before Anakin showed up, Senator Amidala in tow. At least, Obi-Wan thought, tied up under the burning sun, they had not brought Shmi along. 

Still, they survived the arena, somehow. Largely, Obi-Wan supposed, thanks to the timely assistance called in by Shmi, who had managed to get information to the Council. The sudden arrival of the troops Obi-Wan had discovered very much helped, as well.

But no other members of the Order were there when they faced Dooku. None of the white-clad troopers were ready to lend their assistance. It was only he and Anakin. And that turned out to be, Obi-Wan realized, as he was batted across the room, not enough.

Anakin lost his arm in the fight that followed. Obi-Wan thought they were both going to lose their lives, his heart racing at the thought that they might have finally come to the end. Master Yoda’s timely intervention was all that saved them. 

Obi-Wan thanked him, more than once on their trip back to Coruscant. He sat by Anakin’s bacta tank in the med bay, meditating in an attempt to settle his emotions. Sometimes his mediation was disturbed by Senator Amidala, who haunted the med bay like a ghost, even after she was patched up.

Obi-Wan watched her, noting the darkness of her eyes as she stared at Anakin, floating in the bacta, and felt a pang in his chest, deep and aching. “He’s going to be fine,” Obi-Wan said, gently, and she swallowed, looking over at him.

“I hope so,” she said, both her arms curled around her chest.

“He will,” Obi-Wan said, standing and tugging his tunics straight. “He’s strong. Would you like to sit with him for a while?” She nodded, her gaze ever on the bacta tank, and Obi-Wan left her to it, feeling the tinges of her concern all the way down in his cabin.

#

The weeks that followed were all busy. There were endless hearings at the Senate regarding the formation of the Grand Army of the Republic. Many involved the Council and discussions about the responsibilities of the Jedi in the conflict that seemed ready to sweep across the galaxy.

Obi-Wan found himself named a General. He found himself given provisional control of an entire battalion of men, all of it placed in front of him. He received constant notifications about the work being done on what the Senate called capital ships. He was, it seemed, to get one called the  _ Negotiator. _

Anakin recovered from his injuries, drawn from the bacta and fitted for a prosthetic arm. They barely had time to see one another, and Anakin seemed distracted, in any case. It was not a surprise when he requested to escort Senator Amidala back to Naboo; she, evidently, wanted to recover from the events on Geonosis at home.

Obi-Wan did not even manage to see them off, caught in a meeting between the Council and the Senate’s newly founded War Committee. He felt nauseous throughout the meeting, a familiar, roiling feeling in his gut.

Afterwards, he stood in the hall for a moment, exhaled, and took himself down to the healers, where a simple test confirmed what he already knew. He thought about sending Anakin a comm as he went back to their quarters, making himself a cup of tea and then carefully sitting to drink it, keeping his hand steady.

He blew on the hot tea, its warmth spreading through his cold fingers. Another pregnancy. He tried to feel surprised and could not manage it. The galaxy, it seemed, had a perverse sense of humor that it delighted in expressing in his direction.

There was a war spooling up, out in the galaxy. Obi-Wan was to lead in it, somehow. He could think of few times less conducive to bearing a child. His full attention would be required elsewhere. Perhaps… He set aside his tea, grown cold, and settled himself to meditate.

Eventually, he managed to sleep.

And he dreamt of a girl child, with brownish hair tinged with copper and hazel eyes, a broad smile stretched across her face; a smile that Obi-Wan knew perfectly, that he saw on Anakin’s face most days. He heard the noise of the Temple fountains in his dream, the faint voices of children. The Force felt warm and welcoming and-- and he woke, gasping, sitting bolt upright.

The image of the child lingered in his thoughts, so clear and vivid he felt he could almost reach out and touch her. His fingers clenched in the blankets around his hips even as his eyes stung. He’d received very few visions from the Force, sometimes getting glimpses, here and there, of a possible future.

Master Jinn had always been more open to those brief flashes of potential. He’d been, Obi-Wan thought - working to breathe steadily, instead of gulping at the air - so in tune with the whims of the Force that he had… had told Obi-Wan of a girl-child with hazel eyes, more than a decade ago.

His old Master had, Obi-Wan recalled, also had a tendency to get things  _ wrong _ , or, at least, not entirely correct.

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan rasped, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and bending over his knees, threading his fingers together over the back of his neck.

#

Obi-Wan carried the child, still, by the time Anakin returned. He had not been gone that long, but it had given Obi-Wan enough time to think of what to say. To decide how to explain that - well. They were to have a child, if all went well.

Children born of two Jedi were prone to Force sensitivity themselves. Their daughter would likely grow up at the Temple. At least if Master Jinn had been correct about  _ that  _ part of his visions. And if not, perhaps, Obi-Wan thought, perhaps she could go to Shmi, grow up in the Lake District of Naboo, among all the pools and green islands. 

Anakin would appreciate that, Obi-Wan knew. Hoped.

He had so much planned to say, when Anakin finally made his way to their quarters, looking sun-kissed and radiating nerves into the Force. The words died on Obi-Wan’s tongue as Anakin drew closer and he caught Anakin’s scent.

He smelled… very much like another omega, the scent tangled closely with his. Obi-Wan said nothing, for a moment, as Anakin hesitated in the door of their quarters, and then stepped in. He drew up short a few feet away, his eyes widening as he took a breath, his gaze dropping down Obi-Wan’s body as the color fled his cheeks. 

“Surprise,” Obi-Wan said, drily, finding his voice again at the expression on Anakin’s face. 

“You’re--” Anakin started, and then jerked into motion again, coming closer, dropping his bag to the ground without regard. His hands came up, gripping Obi-Wan’s arms. He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice, though they were alone. “You’re  _ pregnant _ ?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging. “With a girl. She’ll have your eyes.”

Anakin made a pained sound, grip tightening, as he ducked his head, his emotions spiralling out. He was all full of searing pleasure and the flush of something like pride and, tangled around them, something sharp that left Obi-Wan’s throat tight. Confusion and - and regret. An emotion Obi-Wan had felt from others so much less often, since he lost Master Jinn. 

“A girl,” Anakin’s voice was a rasp; he had yet to let go, but he’d shifted his gaze so he could stare down at Obi-Wan’s waist, unblinking. He looked awed and horrified, all at once. “How - how do you know?”

“I saw her,” Obi-Wan said, swallowing. “And Master Jinn did, as well, long ago--”

Anakin made a strangled sound and half-laughed, blinking his eyes rapidly, unable to completely rid them of their shine. “That’s - it’s amazing, Obi-Wan. I - what do I need to do?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “There’s really not much more for  _ you  _ to do at this point,” he said, wryly. Anakin jerked his gaze up, finally, blinking. Obi-Wan managed a smile.

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “No, I’m going to help you with this. I’m…” he wetted his lips. He felt suddenly worried. “Do you - should you sit down?”

Obi-Wan laughed, could not stop it, remembering his first two pregnancies. “No,” he said. “I’ll be up and about. Don’t--”

He cut off when Anakin dragged him forward, all at once, the tangle of his emotions growing higher and thicker. Anakin wrapped both arms around him, holding him tightly. He felt… like he was tearing in two inside. And Obi-Wan thought of the smell of the other omega that he wore against his skin.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, and Anakin made a noise of protest.

“I wish--” Anakin said, drawing back, shifting, freezing with his mouth a whisper away from Obi-Wan’s, his eyes wide as he jerked back. “If I’d known…” he said, blinking rapidly, moving his hands in sharp, short gestures that seemed to have no meaning. “I - nothing. Nevermind. Just - tell me how I can help you, and I will.” He swallowed. “Is the...will the Council be angry?”

“Not about this,” Obi-Wan said. He crooked his mouth into a smile. He’d thought perhaps Anakin would want… But his willingness to help was  _ something _ . And Obi-Wan could feel that he was happy, overwhelmed with joy. There was just something else there, conflict and misery.

Another omega. Someone else.

Obi-Wan exhaled, wishing them both - and he could  _ guess  _ who the other omega was, he was not a fool, after all, he had two eyes and he’d been in a room with Anakin and Senator Amidala for more than five clicks - well. He set aside any brief considerations he’d entertained and said, “Come here, Anakin. Sit down. Let me tell you a bit about what to expect from all of this.”

#

Anakin listened with a startling amount of attention to everything Obi-Wan had to say, frowning at the end. He asked, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, “But you’re going to be alright, right? And - and she’s going to be alright? Because, on Tatooine, a lot of times there were - were problems, and--”

“I should be fine, Anakin,” he said, adjusting his grip on his cup. The mint was helping his stomach, at least. 

Anakin frowned, looking to the side and then pushing to his feet to pace. “But there’s going to be a war,” he said, dragging one hand back over his head. 

“I’ve been in wars before,” Obi-Wan pointed out, earning a sharp look from Anakin.

“Maybe you should just… stay here,” Anakin said, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Until… after she’s born. You could stay at the Temple.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Last time, with the boy, he’d spent a few months confined to the Temple’s halls. But that had been at the end of his pregnancy, not the beginning months. And the situation had been markedly different. The galaxy had not been sliding in a tremendous war, for one thing.

He decided not to encourage Anakin’s sudden protective flair by mentioning his last pregnancy. He only shook his head. “Perhaps this will all be resolved before we even see a battle,” he said. “But if not, I will do what I must. And so will you.”

Anakin frowned over at him, “Master--”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan cut in, setting aside his cup. “And on that note, there is more we have to discuss. The Council agrees that it is time for you to take your Trials, Anakin.” There was, perhaps, nothing else he could have said to so thoroughly derail Anakin’s thoughts.

Anakin’s entire bearing changed, his emotions flaring higher and brighter as he took a step forward. They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the Trials and the timeline - slightly condensed due to everything else going on - and Obi-Wan took himself to his quarters early, tired and with a headache.

He was still awake - the discomfort in his lower back and hips was already starting and it would, he recalled, only get worse - when Anakin slipped from their quarters. Anakin’s emotions were all a tangle, just as they’d been earlier. Obi-Wan rolled to face the wall and exhaled. He felt he had a fairly good idea where Anakin was going and who he was going to see.

The scent on Anakin’s skin the next morning confirmed it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings for this chapter!

After the battle on Geonosis, Obi-Wan had been unsure what to expect from the conflict. He’d assumed, incorrectly, that the Separatists would begin massive attacks right away. In fact, they seemed to be finishing their fleets as well, though they were ahead of the Republic.

They were left in a strange state of holding, waiting for a war they all hoped would not really come. It’s long shadow stretched in front of it, darkening Obi-Wan’s thoughts and leaving the Force feeling cool and distant, almost as though it were receding in the face of so much promised horror.

Not all of their time was spent in preparations for battle. There were still missions, still things going wrong across the galaxy. Anakin did not always accompany him on those missions - Knighted and back at the Temple, learning how to use his new prosthetic - and Obi-Wan found himself left uncomfortable by working alone.

He’d never done that, much.

But he understood the necessity and made no complaints. Besides, he seemed safer while out on missions. He nearly died three times on Coruscant over the following months, twice in strange accidents, and once when a very angry young woman with two red lightsabers tried to kill him on the Temple steps.

Anakin tackled her bodily over the side in the middle of the fight, snarling, ignoring Obi-Wan’s protests and leaving him breathing hard, staring over the edge. He felt Anakin’s hot worry and anger, and knew he lived. Anakin came limping back to the Temple an hour later, still vibrating with fury, to inform them that she’d gotten away.

Obi-Wan blew out a breath, wondering why all these Darkside users were coming out of the ether. Perhaps they were drawn by the spreading shadow of the war, the taint it was already leaving in the Force. He shuddered at the thought, putting a hand on the beginning of the swell of his stomach and wondered what kind of galaxy his child would be born into.

#

The next Separatist attacks didn’t occur until months after Geonosis. When the attacks came, they were out on little worlds on the Rim. The  _ Negotiator  _ was only just finished in time for deployment. The timing was uncanny. Still, Obi-Wan supposed it was lucky. They could all use some luck. Obi-Wan walked through the halls of the ship as they prepared to leave orbit and found them to be shiny.

New ships were always interesting. There was so much potential in each one. Obi-Wan drew to a stop in the hall, placing a hand on the wall and considering that the  _ Negotiator  _ held the potential to cause so much death. He frowned, thinking about the worlds even now under attack from the Separatists, the orders from the Senate, and Anakin’s unhappiness that he had not been sent on this mission.

Anakin’s Knighting had gone well. He’d smiled so widely at the end, when Obi-Wan cut his braid, and embraced Obi-Wan afterwards, in the hall, but carefully, not too tightly. Obi-Wan had felt his worry through the touch, concern about the child.

Concern about the child was always present in Anakin’s thoughts. It had spiked so much higher when Obi-Wan received orders to take the  _ Negotiator  _ out, immediately, to the front. Anakin had protested the choice, loudly, and to anyone willing to stand still to listen, but…

Obi-Wan’s placement had been a direct order from the Senate. They had - it seemed - assessed his past experience with armed conflicts and decided he should be on the lines as quickly as possible. The Chancellor had sent a personal missive wishing Obi-Wan success, which had done little to quell Anakin’s temper, despite his fondness for the man. 

Anakin had even insisted he would talk to the man about it. He’d snapped something about not believing the Chancellor would allow it. As far as Obi-Wan knew, nothing had come from that discussion. At least, his orders had not changed.

Obi-Wan had done what he could to calm Anakin’s nerves, but he’d sensed that the unhappiness with the situation remained. He’d half-expected to find Anakin stowed away on-board, but did not. Perhaps because Senator Amidala had been on Coruscant, at the time of Obi-Wan’s departure.

Obi-Wan shook his head. Anakin would have to adjust. There would be no safety during the war, not for any of them, and it was now clear that the Senate was not going to resolve things without further bloodshed. He patted the  _ Negotiator’s _ wall - he had a feeling in his gut that he’d be spending a lot of time with her - and someone cleared their throat beside him.

Obi-Wan glanced over at the trooper stopped beside him. His armor was all orange and white, just like all the members of the 212th. He had his helmet under his arm and a large scar on his brow. “Sorry to disturb you, General,” he said, “I’m CC-224. I’ve been assigned as Commander of the 212th.”

A chill walked down Obi-Wan’s spine at the alphanumeric designation. He turned from the wall, smiling, and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you - is there a name you prefer?”

His Commander blinked at him, keeping his gaze on Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan wondered if he’d gotten a look at all the rest while Obi-Wan contemplated the hull of the ship. “I - my brothers call me Cody,” he said, finally.

Obi-Wan nodded. “What would you prefer  _ I  _ call you, Commander?” he asked, stepping away from the wall. They could move towards the bridge while they spoke. They’d be getting underway soon. He could already feel the  _ Negotiator’s  _ massive engines spooling up.

“I’d prefer Cody,” he said, falling into step beside Obi-Wan. 

“Cody it is, then,” Obi-Wan said, smiling at him and gesturing down the hall. Cody fell into step beside him, taking another deep breath, frowning a bit. Obi-Wan wondered what was bothering him as their discussion moved through all the important bits of getting the ship operational, organizing the men, preparing for whatever they were going to find when they reached their destination.

By the time they’d gotten close to the bridge, Obi-Wan’s back ached, but he released that pain into the Force. They had so many larger problems than his discomfort. They also, he decided, had plenty of time to discuss strategy once they got underway.

Still, he hesitated at the door to the bridge. Cody stopped beside him without prompting, glancing over at him, and Obi-Wan said, “We’ll continue our discussions later. I also wanted to let you know, if there are… any questions you or your, well, your brothers have, about how things are done, my door will always be open to you.”

The idea of taking these men and making them fight a war sat poorly with him, no matter how he looked at it. The Senate had not cared about Obi-Wan’s gut feelings when they made their decision, however. They’d merely noted the feelings of the Jedi Council and finalized the conscription of the GAR.

He could not undo that decision. But he could, at least, make sure they knew what was going on around them, as much as possible. He could try to keep as many of them alive as possible. He could--

“Actually, sir,” Cody said, interrupting his train of thought and looking both confused and uncomfortable. “Since you mentioned it, I do have a question.” Obi-Wan smiled encouragingly as he knew how; he’d had lots of practice at that with Anakin. Cody still hesitated another moment before he said, “You, well. Sir. Your smell is… different.”

Obi-Wan blinked. He’d expected a question about the operations of the ship or tactical decisions or-- Well, perhaps such assumptions had been unfair. Obviously, the troopers couldn’t consider battles all the time. And, Obi-Wan considered, they’d been raised in a closed environment, all of them alphas.

They’d likely never ran into anyone in his condition before, he supposed, amusement tugging at his thoughts. “I suppose I don’t,” he said. “I’m an omega--”

“I knew  _ that _ , sir,” Cody said, and then the tips of his ears flushed and he looked to the side.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a second, processing that, and finished, “And I’m pregnant.”

He saw Cody’s expression change, his brows drawing a bit together as he glanced back and then down. “Pregnant,” he said, his tone strange. Obi-Wan knew he was showing - even robes could only hide so much, at five months out - but perhaps the troopers hadn’t known what a pregnancy even looked like. Why would they, he wondered. It wouldn’t help them fight battles any more effectively.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and waved the door open. They were due to get underway, and Cody seemed to be caught in some kind of internal loop. “Shall we, Commander?” he asked, and Cody nodded, following him onto the bridge.

Obi-Wan exhaled all his tensions, all the doubts about charging across the galaxy to fight in this huge, fine ship. He looked across the bridge, troopers glancing up from their stations, coming to attention. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, preparing to step off. Fortunately, he’d never had any fear related to plunging off into empty nothingness.

#

They arrived too quickly at their destination, finding the area swarming with Separtist ships. Obi-Wan looked out across the embattled world below and the entire thing felt… terribly real, all at once. The Senate was not going to suddenly send a message through, declaring that they’d resolved things peaceably. The Separatists were not going to abruptly decide they’d rather not charge into open conflict.

There was to be war. There was  _ already  _ war. It swept across the surface of the world below, all the pain and death echoing up through the Force, flowing through Obi-Wan’s mind. He spared a moment to grieve for those already lost, but could not dwell on it.

Those still living required his attentions. He exhaled. He gave orders. He adjusted his robes and headed for the hangar and the drop ships within. Cody caught him on his way, doing a double-take and asking, “General, what are you doing?”

“We’ve reached our stop,” Obi-Wan pointed out, curious why he had to explain. Cody had been on the bridge. “It’s time to go.”

“You’re staying here, aren’t you?” Cody asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot, frowning.

Obi-Wan snorted, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he said. “I’m needed below. There’s much to do.” He made to continue onward, and Cody reached out towards him, stopping well before he made contact.

“But,” Cody said, expression so tense that Obi-Wan worried about his jaw. “You’re--” he gestured, sharply.

“And quite capable still of fighting,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his tone gentle, unsure as to the source of his Commander’s sudden concern. A few days ago, Cody hadn’t seemed to know what his condition  _ was _ . “Now, let’s go.”

Cody’s jaw clenched tighter, but he said nothing else about the subject, and Obi-Wan thought that would be the end of it. He kept thinking that, over the days that came, right up until Cody bodily jumped on a droid that had gotten under Obi-Wan’s guard, a blaster shot deflecting off of his armor as the pair went down.

A moment later, Obi-Wan felt a surge of satisfaction from his Commander’s mind. Cody was already rolling to his feet, the droid in pieces. Obi-Wan blinked at him, saber still in hand, though they’d found a moment of peace in the midst of all the fighting. He said, “Commander?”

“Comms are spotty,” Cody said, instead of offering any kind of explanation for his actions, the new blaster mark across his shoulder, scarring his armor. “Some kind of new machines are coming up the left flank. Came to tell you, sir.”

Obi-Wan swore, softly. The fighting had gone on and on. He’d grown weary and then passed into a state beyond that. But they were - had been - pushing back the Separatist lines. He drew in a breath, steadying himself, and said, “Show me.” Discussion of Cody’s penchant for jumping onto droids would have to wait.

#

They, eventually, ended up pushing the Separatists off-world. Obi-Wan made plans to offer aid to the survivors - much of their infrastructure had been disrupted by the attacks - and they did, for some days. Until the next attack, further out.

And the next.

And the next.

Weeks turned to  _ months  _ of constant activity, one battle after the next. He should, by rights, have died, and would have, were he alone. But the troopers were excellent warriors. Beyond competent. And… kinder than he would have expected.

A trooper he had only just met pulled him close, during an explosion on some moon with a name Obi-Wan had forgotten, turning his shoulders towards the blast as fire raced towards them. Obi-Wan walked out singed, but alive, making sure the trooper was on a stretcher and taken to the healers as quickly as possible.

They… watched over him. He’d felt alone, sent out to fight without a partner from the Temple, but it did not take long to realize he was not. He had thousands of partners, each of their lives his to protect, his life theirs to look after, just as much.

He had not realized they thought about it, as well, until they’d been fighting together several weeks, and the hall he was standing in on a Separatist ship vented, the hull ripping away to empty atmosphere, sucking him out, and--

And he never knew how Cody managed to grab him - standing in a side corridor - as he was pulled by. But his Commander did, hauling him through the bulkhead door a click before it shut. Obi-Wan stood there, sucking in air and blinking against the dim, red emergency lighting, Cody’s hand still closed around his upper arm.

The air stank of oil when Cody said, utterly serious, “I think someone’s trying to kill you, sir.”

Obi-Wan blinked over at him, snorted, and said, “I  _ am  _ a High General. The only one out here, presently.” He was getting quite tired of his requests for back-up going ignored. He shrugged, and added, “Besides, I’m quite the target at the moment. Thank you, Commander. I suppose we should keep moving.”

Cody made an unhappy little sound, but didn’t argue about it. 

They won. That day.

#

Obi-Wan did the best he could to hold the war together, even after he grew too cumbersome to go personally into battle.

It was a difficult decision to make, but, after a certain point, he’d only be endangering others by wading into the fray. And so he made himself stay on the bridge, directing battles from there, pulling on everything he’d ever learned about the terrible art of making war.

He discussed strategies with Cody, so many evenings, standing on the bridge and batting options back and forth. Obi-Wan broke off a conversation one night with a wince as his daughter rolled within him, elbows and knees hitting a dozen places before she settled.

“Sir?” Cody asked, a step closer than he had been when Obi-Wan looked up, concern written all over his expression.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, waving a hand. “She’s just restless.” She often was, as though she were already full of Anakin’s impatience. Still, the movement was a  _ good  _ thing. Reassuring. But he was tired of his organs getting battered. It was a relief, at least, that none of the troopers ever made the move to  _ touch  _ his stomach. That had happened, a few times, with his son. He’d never liked it. 

Neither had Master Jinn, for that matter.

Obi-Wan shook those thoughts away, looking back at the holographic projection of the moon they were due to attack. Before he could give voice to the plan forming in his head, Cody cleared his throat and asked, “Where’s her, uh, other parent?”

They did not generally speak of personal matters. But he  _ had  _ promised to answer questions and he saw no harm in it. He sighed and said, rubbing at his side, “He’s on Coruscant. At the Temple, most likely.” Or in Senator Amidala’s quarters, a small voice in the back of his mind added.

Cody frowned, looking to the side as he did. His voice was oddly flat when he spoke. “You must be looking forward to getting back there. Seeing him.”

“We could use the break,” Obi-Wan agreed, and would have said more, had not the alarms chosen that moment to start blaring. “Kriff,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Here we go again.”

#

His child moved near constantly inside of him, stretching his skin  _ out _ . His back hurt and his hips hurt and even his legs hurt, but there were people dying all around him, so he supposed he couldn’t complain. The time when he had returned to the Temple during his last pregnancy had long ago come and gone. He was, it seemed, far too valuable on the front to be sent back to Coruscant, according to the Senate. 

He expected, at least, to be joined by other Jedi, other warships. But there seemed to be constant delays with their construction. He was still scrambling around,  _ alone _ , by the time they reached the Grathur system and found what appeared to be an entire fleet there.

Obi-Wan swallowed a curse, sending a message to Coruscant and considering the overwhelming odds. 

He received back orders to hold the line and stood for a moment, heart beating hard at his ribs.

“Sir?” Cody asked, standing near his side, radiating concern in his direction. 

Obi-Wan shook himself, looked over, and smiled, feeling grim inside. “Well,” he said, adrenaline thrumming for him alongside a kick of pain in his back and gut, “we’ve got our orders, I suppose. This is what we’re going to do.”

Obi-Wan coordinated the battle from the bridge. He was, quite honestly, unsure he’d fit in a fighter cockpit. The child within him grew by the day, it seemed. She was not so small as his son had been; no doubt he had Anakin’s height to thank for that. Sometimes, he assumed she was going to spring from him already six foot tall.

He attempted not to think of her as the battle raged, ships exploding against the stars, none of them creating enough light to ever be seen by anyone else, temporary little supernovas. His efforts to focus grew more difficult when the pains intensified, low in his back and curling around to his gut.

Obi-Wan looked at the great ships arrayed around him, grabbed onto the Force, and ignored the waves of pain and pressure. He did not wonder what was happening. It had been years but, he found, some experiences you did not forget.

His second labor was, in a way, less fraught than his first. He could barely spare a thought for it. The battle took all his attention, he only just managed to note the contractions getting closer and closer together. The child was early by a few weeks, but…

Obi-Wan did not sense any changes in her presence in the Force that felt alarming. And so he stayed at his post, issuing orders, until the Separatist fleet broke apart, scattering back across the stars. And then he put both hands on the console in front of him, leaned hard on them, and wondered if he’d make it to the medical bay.

He was still standing there when Cody stepped through the door - he’d led an attack onto one of the Separatist vessels - helmet under his arm, sweat and a bit of blood on his skin. “Ah, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and steady, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Cody frowned, sat his helmet aside, and stepped forward. “Sir?”

“You’ll be in command until I’m recovered,” Obi-Wan continued, because the last thing they needed was a lapse in the chain of command. The Separatists could return at any moment. 

He watched Cody’s gaze drop, portentous, towards his stomach. “Recovered from what, sir?”

Obi-Wan smiled; he felt very tired and he hurt. And so, perhaps, it was not much of a surprise when the galaxy chose that moment to clench his body tight, a hot, wet mess suddenly running down his legs. He hunched further over, gasping, and there was a hand around his arm, holding him up. “Sir, what’s - is it --?”

“The baby, yes,” Obi-Wan managed, when he felt he could talk once more.

Cody swore - quite creatively, they’d learned so much in the short time they’d been out in the galaxy - and said, “Alright, we’ll get you to the infirmary, it’s--”

“No time for that, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan rasped, doing his best to sink down. Cody kept a grip on him, gentling his descent, at least. The battle had raged for hours and hours. Long enough for the bulk of the labor to pass. 

Cody’s alarm rang sharp and clear in the Force, but there was durasteel under it, cool and stable, implacable. He asked, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, quite sure,” Obi-Wan managed, before the next wave of pain hit - terrible - and he did nothing for a moment but breathe, distantly aware of Cody ordering medics to the bridge, stat, the rest of the bridge crew cluttering around them.

“What do we do, sir?” Cody asked, still holding onto him, crouching before him. He’d leaned Obi-Wan against a wall, which Obi-Wan appreciated, vaguely. Obi-Wan blinked at him, looking over his shoulder at the worried faces beyond; none of them were making any attempt to man their stations, their feelings all suffused with concern and--and there was something about their concern - unexpected - that clogged his throat.

The hormones and the pain, he knew. He swallowed and tried to flash a smile. “Get ready to catch?” he suggested, pulling at his robes. There was so much fabric in the way, but he could not imagine asking any of the troopers to help him remove them.

“Kriff,” Cody breathed, but his calm stability didn’t waver. He pulled at his gloves, instead, throwing them to the side. There was a moment’s pause, and then Obi-Wan heard armor clattering around as well, discarded all in a rush. Obi-Wan’s fingers felt barely connected to the rest of him as he shifted and shoved and gulped at the air again, next time the pain hit.

The contractions were coming terribly fast. The entire thing had progressed so much more quickly, as though his daughter were in a great hurry to enter the world. Certainly, she seemed more determined than his son had been. He recalled the healers telling him that was normal for a second delivery, but…

Everything felt distant and far away, except the cresting pain. He listened to Cody demand information about the whereabouts of the medics, and pushed when his body insisted that he push, gasping out, “Oh!”

“Oh?” Cody asked, and then his emotions fully clicked over into the strange calm he got on the battlefield. Obi-Wan quite liked it, the way Cody’s mind grew steady and focused. His tone sounded different when he added, “I see something, sir.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan murmured, reaching out for something to hold onto, and someone gave him a hand. He squeezed, feeling armor under his fingers. “That’s good. Are you ready?”

Cody shifted closer; he felt like determination, all of his uncertainty bled away. It was a comfort, even moreso when he said, “Ready.” He braced his shoulders, as though expecting to take a blow, and Obi-Wan would have laughed in any other situation but--

But there was pain and terrible pressure, a lurching sensation of movement from within him, and a moment that seemed to stretch for several years, and--

And when it ended, it was to the siren wailing of a newborn, high and splitting. Obi-Wan sank back, breathing hard, sweating under his robes, still holding onto a trooper’s hand. “It’s - she’s crying,” Cody said, from somewhere far away. “Sir?”

“Normal,” Obi-Wan managed to answer. “A good thing.” He shifted his head enough to see his daughter, red and waving her arms and legs in the air, tiny in Cody’s hands before he passed her to the closest trooper. Obi-Wan wondered, vaguely, what they were doing, before Cody yanked off his blacks, taking the child back and wrapping her in them.

Cody was still staring at the child when the medics finally ran into the bridge.

Everything that happened after that felt like a blur to Obi-Wan, exhaustion catching up with him at the same time all the hormones in his bloodstream crashed. He knew they got him to the infirmary. He was near certain Cody had carried him there, while Obi-Wan held his child, cradled close. But mostly he just knew that they put him on a bed and that he slept.

#

The Senate finally recalled them to Coruscant. The news was delivered to Obi-Wan in the med bay as he recovered. He nodded, grateful for the chance to rest, though his daughter seemed determined to ensure that he should not. She fussed, frequently, even with the soothing influence of the Force. He should have known any child of Anakin’s would carry on so.

She liked to be moving, happy when he was carrying her, even if he just paced in a circle. But he could not keep her in his arms all the time, not if he were to rest. He would have gotten very little sleep indeed, were it not for his bridge officers, who took to visiting regularly.

His daughter seemed pleased enough with their attention. She did not fuss overmuch, and never with Cody, who always removed his armor before picking her up, holding her with a level of care that made Obi-Wan ache.

They’d been created to fight, all of these men. He’d already heard rhetoric in the Senate indicating that they could do nothing else, that conscripting them all was actually a kindness, it let them fulfill their purpose, but…. But he’d never believed that. And watching Cody coax his daughter to hold his finger would never allow him to think a word of it true.

“I think she remembers you, sir,” Waxer said, as he slipped into the medbay. 

Cody snorted, glancing over even as he adjusted his hold on the child, making no move to hand her over. “She may,” Obi-Wan said, stirring from his drowse, shrugging when both troopers glanced at him. “She’s Force sensitive. Even this young, she may pick up… impressions.” He smiled, nodding to where she’d fallen asleep. “She knows she’s safe, anyway.”

Cody frowned, just for a moment. He said, “Of course she is,” and Obi-Wan’s chest ached, sharp and sudden. Common knowledge said alphas disliked the offspring of others. But all of his troopers, every single one of them, treated his daughter like something precious.

“What’s her name?” Waxer asked, still lingering, though Cody had, in fact, moved away as though to prevent handing the child over.

Obi-Wan blinked. He hadn’t…. Well. He’d not considered a name, just in case. He’d not been able to bring himself to name his son, not knowing that he would be someone else’s child in all but blood. But his daughter touched the Force. 

She would stay in the Temple. He would be able to see her grow. He swallowed, throat tightening for a moment at the swell of emotion in his chest. Jedi who bore a child named the babe, by tradition. He blinked, and said, “Oh, I’m not...I’ll have to think about it.”

“You could name her after the Commander,” Waxer suggested.

Cody rolled his eyes and said, “Alright, let the General rest, come on.” And Obi-Wan watched them for a moment, before sinking back against the pillows and closing his eyes. He really was very tired.

#

Obi-Wan had decided on a name by the time they reached Coruscant, settling on Dal-Voe. He only had distant and vague memories of his birth family, but he remembered his mother’s name. He wondered what she would think of a Jedi carrying it out amongst the stars. 

Cody and the others seemed to approve, in any case, though he heard them calling her Dal more often than not. They said it with such warmth that Obi-Wan could not bear to correct them. Besides, he supposed it was a large name for such a small child.

He wrapped her in spare robes when they finally reached Coruscant and took a shuttle down to the Temple. He was supposed to make a report to the Senate, but he figured that could wait at least until he’d brought Dal-Voe to the crèche.

Cody escorted him down, gazing wide-eyed out the window as Obi-Wan piloted them in. “First time seeing Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked, navigating through the familiar crush of traffic. Cody nodded, adjusting his grip on Dal-Voe. “It’s a lot to take in the first time,” Obi-Wan continued, gesturing over. “That’s the Senate complex. We’ll be going there later. And this is the Temple.”

The troopers absorbed the sight in silence. Obi-Wan pointed out a few places of interest as he brought them in to land. He took Dal-Voe back as the engines spooled down, stepping out beneath the bright sky. “Feel free to look around,” he said, smiling at Cody and the others, “I’ll comm you when I’m finished.”

#

It did not take long, really, to find Anakin. He always shone in the Force. Obi-Wan found him in one of the Temple’s many gardens, a small, tucked away area full of soft grasses and blossoming flowers. Anakin appeared to be trying to meditate, floating a few inches off of the ground, his eyes closed and his head bowed.

Obi-Wan stood in the doorway, hesitating to interrupt, and Anakin’s eyes snapped open. He stretched to his feet smoothly, coming back to the ground, eyes going wide and emotions flaring so expansively in the Force that Obi-Wan lost all sense of what they were for a heartbeat. Obi-Wan took a breath, adjusted his grip on Dal-Voe, and said, “Anakin.”

Anakin made a small sound and jerked into motion, only to draw up haltingly again a step away from Obi-Wan. His gaze roved, settling finally on Dal-Voe, currently sleeping. “Oh, Force,” Anakin said, sounding gutted, reaching a hand out and hesitating, “she’s really - real.”

Obi-Wan smiled, briefly. “She is,” he said, feeling Anakin’s nerves and anxiety and such  _ yearning _ . “Would you like to hold her?” he asked, and Anakin’s emotions spread around them, so much want that it blocked out everything else for a moment.

“Yes,” Anakin managed, his voice even mostly steady. Obi-Wan handed her over, slowly, directing Anakin a bit on how to support her head, and then stepping back. Anakin stared down at the child, breath stopping for a moment. He stroked one finger down the plump curve of her cheek and made a hurt sound, turning and sitting heavily on the bench beside them.

Obi-Wan shifted towards them, worry coiling through his gut, asking, “Are you alright?”

Anakin jerked out a nod, fingers moving over the soft, pale hair across Dal-Voe’s head. “Yes,” he said, his voice ragged. “Yes, I’m - we have a child.” He laughed, shakily, punchy with a sudden, fierce joy. He looked up at Obi-Wan, his eyes shining. “What did you name her?”

“Dal-Voe,” Obi-Wan said, putting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. He seemed like he could use a stabilizing touch. Anakin leaned into the pressure immediately, gaze going back to their child.

“Dal-Voe,” he repeated. “That’s beautiful. The most beautiful name I’ve ever heard. She’s beautiful. So soft and small and perfect, look at her. Obi-Wan, I….” He cut off, sounding strangled, and curled over, pressing a kiss to Dal-Voe’s forehead. His shoulder shook under Obi-Wan’s hand.

Obi-Wan sat automatically; there was plenty of room on the bench. “Anakin?” He leaned forward, trying to get a look at Anakin’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Anakin shook his head, his emotions so tangled they’d bent back on themselves, leaving nothing but knots. “Nothing,” Anakin said, the lie sitting there between them, even as a tear slid down his cheek. “Nothing, I - I just…” his jaw worked for a moment, soundlessly. “She’s so perfect, Obi-Wan. I’m - I don’t - you did this and I--”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, softly, keeping a hand on his shoulder. He’d suspected that actually physically having a child would impact Anakin in a major way. “ _ We  _ did this, Anakin.”

“Yes,” Anakin’s voice cracked and he looked over, his eyes shining as he met Obi-Wan’s gaze, his expression shifting. “We did. I - I wish I’d--” He leaned closer, all at once, emotions going warm and soft. Their noses brushed before Anakin pulled himself up short, freezing all over.

It was a natural reaction, Obi-Wan told himself. Alphas were often - though not always, as he knew - besotted with new children. There was heady want slipping across from Anakin, but it was far from the only emotion within him. 

Obi-Wan nearly tasted his regret - that was an emotion he’d never forgotten, not after Qui-Gon - and something almost like guilt. Even a tinge of anger, but that was ever present with Anakin. Anakin made a ragged sound and stood, pacing with Dal-Voe held close in his arms, his face turned away as he rasped, “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Obi-Wan told him, and Anakin shook his head, just once. Obi-Wan took mercy on him and said, “After you’ve held her for a while, we’ll take her to the crèche.”

Anakin nodded, pacing a little further away. Obi-Wan felt it when Dal-Voe woke up; her presence in the Force was simple, all basic wants and hungers. She felt content enough to wake in Anakin’s arms, not yet bothered by the hunger growing in her stomach. Anakin made a soft little sound as she woke, drawing to a stop. Obi-Wan watched him talk to her, softly, watching him wiggle his fingers until she grabbed them.

The affection he felt spread all around them, filling up the garden and racing outwards. Obi-Wan would not have been surprised to hear that other Jedi felt it, that it brightened their days as they went about their duties. Anakin had always felt things so strongly.

#

“We can visit, right?” Anakin asked, after Dal-Voe grew fussy and hungry enough to be returned to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had come prepared with bottles and guided Anakin through the motions of feeding her. He looked up as she latched onto the bottle, contentment flowing out of her Force signature.

Obi-Wan looked at the pair of them and ached inside, before setting aside that emotion. He still scented Padmé on Anakin’s skin. “Of course,” he said, “whenever you’d like. Master Mundi has had two daughters in the crèche. He visited both frequently.”

Anakin nodded, gaze on Dal-Voe’s tiny expression. “And she’ll be alright?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t she be alright?”

Anakin shrugged a little, glancing up for a moment, before his gaze returned right back to their daughter. “I don’t - it’s just…” He grimaced. “To tell you the truth, I can’t really imagine… growing up without mom.”

Obi-Wan wondered how much easier things would have been if Anakin had spent a few years in the crèche. He wondered, briefly, if it would have helped, or if he’d only have bickered with the other younglings, too different to mesh into their lives. Obi-Wan had, after all, had his own issues with other younglings. And he’d been raised in the Temple. He’d known all the mores and expected actions.

In either case, he could not go back and re-write time. “I grew up in the crèche,” he said, softly. “And my childhood was quite happy, really. It’s only a different way of being raised, Anakin. She’ll be well loved and cared for. And she’ll learn so much.”

Anakin nodded. “Alright,” he said, as though he’d needed convincing. “Tell me more.”

#

They spoke nearly until the sun sank before rising and leaving the little garden. Anakin seemed in a thoughtful turn of thought as they moved through the Temple. He admitted, haltingly, that he’d been visiting the crèche while Obi-Wan was away. Getting familiar with it. Talking to the crèche masters.

He felt all full of concern and that same joy that had lingered around him since he held Dal-Voe. It remained as the crèche masters took her, cooing over her and holding her close. Obi-Wan watched them - wanted to watch them longer, he knew Master Mundi sometimes stayed a night or two in the crèche - but the Senate would be waiting.

“I’m going to stay, just for a while,” Anakin said, when Obi-Wan started to make his goodbyes. Obi-Wan left him to it, Anakin’s attention all focused on Dal-Voe. 

Obi-Wan commed the troopers to let them know he was heading back to the transport. He was surprised to get a near immediate reply from Cody. He had, apparently, lingered around the Temple throughout the day. “There was a lot to see,” he said, when Obi-Wan met him in the atrium, his helmet under one arm. “And people seemed happy to show me around.”

Obi-Wan smiled, nodding. “The Temple always welcomes guests,” he said, falling into step beside Cody. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“It was all interesting,” Cody said, glancing skyward as they exited the doors. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders when he continued, “I saw you briefly with… another Jedi. He was holding Dal.” There was a… strange twist to his emotions, something with the sharpest of edges.

Obi-Wan glanced over at him, analyzing the feelings. “Yes,” he said. “Anakin. Dal-Voe’s other parent.”

Cody’s expression twitched, a quick crook of his mouth. “Your mate,” he said, tone odd and flat.

Obi-Wan snorted a brief laugh. Such assumptions would have stung, when he was younger. But he’d grown to accept his lot in life. He’d worked hard at it. He was… not faulty, perhaps. But there was something about him that made him unsuited for alphas. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing like that.”

“But,” Cody said, after a moment of quiet. “Dal?”

“Her conception was… unplanned. Our closeness was a necessity. We don’t…” He shrugged; it felt odd to discuss such things, but it was only the facts. Besides, the Commander had brought Dal-Voe into the galaxy. It was difficult not to feel that Obi-Wan had nothing left to conceal from him. “He’s not-- Our relationship is not of that nature.”

“I see,” Cody said, tone changing. His hand twitched, just for a moment, at his side.

Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side. “Something bothering you, Commander?”

“No,” Cody said, as though his emotions were not a sudden swirl. “Are we heading to the Senate, then?” And Obi-Wan let the conversation drop. Cody’s feelings were his own, and Obi-Wan hardly had the right to try to pry them free. 

#

Obi-Wan had anticipated many things from their meeting at the Senate. News that they were to attend some kind of  _ ball  _ had not been among them. And yet, somehow, he ended up in the midst of ornately dressed representatives from so many worlds, moving about as soft music filled the air, representing… apparently, the entirety of the GAR.

The Senate had insisted his officer core join them, as well, and he ended up spending most of his evening keeping an eye on them. They were utterly capable on a battlefield, but they’d never been trained to deal with politicians.

“This seems like a waste of resources,” Cody told him, halfway through the night. Cody had found the spot where he’d leaned against the wall, giving himself a view of the room and the chattering people scattered about.

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. “I could think of a few more sensible uses for the funds that went into this little soiree,” he said, with a sideways glance towards Cody. The troopers had not had a dress uniform, but the tailors at the Temple had done what they could.

The white suits were sharp, eye-catching. 

Obi-Wan had already had to rescue two of his men from Senators with, frankly, predatory looks on their faces. One he’d left, because Kickstart had been enjoying himself too much to disturb. Obi-Wan shook that thought aside, reaching out to straighten the collar of Cody’s shirt, feeling him go still.

“There,” Obi-Wan said, smiling, “perfect.” Senator Organa managed to find them, then, and Obi-Wan was pulled away to talk about matters that seemed important, for a bit. That lasted until the Chancellor appeared at his side, smiling.

Obi-Wan made himself smile back; it was far from an automatic response. Something about Palpatine had always left his skin crawling, but that was not the kind of thing one said about the Chancellor of the Senate. Not if one wanted their other thoughts given due consideration.

“I believe I have congratulations to offer you, General Kenobi,” Palpatine said, eyes twinkling as he smiled. Obi-Wan kept his smile from wavering at the title. He didn’t care for it. He had to answer to such things on the battlefield, but they weren’t  _ on  _ a battlefield. 

At least, not a traditional one.

“Such a kindness is much appreciated,” he said, words shaped with long years of practice, “but unnecessary. I’ve only done my duty.”

“Ah,” Palpatine said, smile shifting, “Jedi modesty. Your military acumen has been much discussed in the Senate, these past months. I’m certain the Separatists must not have expected such a fierce adversary.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I have been in one war zone or another for the better part of twenty years. I was bound to pick up something.” It sometimes felt as though his life had shaped him specifically for this time, for the war. His missions had so often involved conflict, open battle and the brutal necessities of survival, in a way so many of his fellow’s had not.

Luminara and Quinlan, the others from his youth, they had not spent their apprenticeships fighting. He had. He’d learned the strategies that worked out of necessity. On a few dark nights, he had wondered if the Force had wanted it so. 

It was an awful thought, and one he tried not to dwell upon.

“Yes,” Palpatine said, taking a drink of wine, “I suppose you were. And you’ve proven so resilient, as well.”’

Obi-Wan shivered down his spine. The man - for all Anakin’s fondness for him - only ever made Obi-Wan uncomfortable. He glanced over in relief when he felt Cody approaching, and smiled, waving him closer. “The troopers truly deserve the credit,” he said, “without them I’d be dead many times over.”

Cody frowned over at Palpatine - Obi-Wan was not sure he’d ever seen anyone just openly scowl at the man before - and nodded. “Not on our watch, Sir. We’ll make sure you stay alive.”

“I’m sure you will,” Palpatine said, inclining his head and then looking past them, calling to someone across the room. Obi-Wan exhaled as he left, lifted two glasses off of the tray of a passing server, and handed one to Cody before taking a drink from his own.

It was the first alcohol he’d had in months. 

It burned all the way down, and on the way back up, when Cody said, “I don’t like him,” and Obi-Wan snorted in surprise.

“Are you alright?” Cody asked, a second later, a hand on his arm, steadying him. Obi-Wan nodded, clearing his throat and flashing him a smile. Cody’s hand stayed where it was, anyway, as though they were on a battlefield and he thought he might need to tug Obi-Wan out of the way of enemy fire.

“Just fine,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his voice and leaning a little closer, “you should watch what you say, in this place.”

Cody blinked, looking at him as though he hadn’t quite processed the words, which was just about the time the music got louder. Obi-Wan heaved a sigh. “Wonderful,” he said, “there’s going to be dancing, too.” He slugged back the rest of the alcohol in his cup, glanced around, and decided, “We might as well get started.”

Cody made a surprised, choking sound when Obi-Wan tugged him around into position, but he learned quickly, hands settling at Obi-Wan’s hip and shoulder. He followed Obi-Wan’s lead, and tightened his grip, just for a moment, when the song changed and the Mon Calamari senator cut in to take the next dance.

Obi-Wan smiled at her, reflexively, and shivered a bit when he noticed, a few turns later, that Cody was standing where he’d been left, watching him. Obi-Wan nodded at him across the room, and tried to refocus on what his current partner was saying.

It was almost dawn before they finally escaped. 

#

On the orders of the Senate, Obi-Wan was on the move again almost immediately. This time, Anakin joined him, at the head of the 501st. Obi-Wan caught a thread of concern each time they met, stretching from Anakin’s mind back towards Coruscant. It never faded, never even wavered, not even when the Council sent a Padawan out to join them.

Ahsoka was a clever girl. Spirited. Obi-Wan wondered if her temper and willingness to take risks would throw her too much into conflict with Anakin - they were so alike as to clash - and was surprised when it did not.

Instead, Anakin took to her almost at once, with a sudden, fierce hint of protectiveness creeping across his signature in the Force. He snapped when a trooper questioned her harshly, a scowl darkening his features, and Obi-Wan glanced at him in surprise.

Ahsoka, at least, seemed willing to adapt to her new apprenticeship. She felt all full of nerves. Obi-Wan well recalled those feelings, the risk of rejection and the way it had hung over his head for so many years. 

At least, he thought, watching Anakin ensure Ahsoka was at his side, she did not have to worry about that. Anakin, after all, had balked at the suggestion of sending her back to the Temple. Obi-Wan smiled as he felt her tension ease over the course of their mission.

She was too young, really, to be in a war zone. But so had he been, once upon a time. And she would have Anakin to look after her.

#

They bounced from one side of the Rim to the other in the weeks that followed. They waged desperate battles, and did not secure as many wins as Obi-Wan hoped. Other Generals entered the fray as their ships were completed, bringing support to beleaguered worlds, and it still did not seem like there were enough of them.

Obi-Wan ended up having to explain his unfortunate allergies to Cody after they worked a mission with Aayla. Cody showed up at his quarters one night, looking discomforted when he said, “Sir, I don’t know if I should ask, but… but you still don’t, well. Smell like the other omegas do. Not Ahsoka or General Secura, sir.”

Obi-Wan had grown tired of providing explanations for the frustrating condition, but he explained as best he could, anyway. Probably best for the Commander of his Battalion to know, he decided. Who knew how he’d have to handle his next heat, if they didn’t wrap this conflict up quickly.

Still, Obi-Wan could not believe that the Separatists had the stomach for a long and drawn out war. They would spend themselves quickly, he thought, looking at the way they fought their battles. They were operating over too large a front, engaging in too many spots of open warfare to support the offensive.

Likely, the entire affair would be over in months, and then the Senate would need to answer for the construction of the massive war ships. The costs were astronomical. Obi-Wan kept telling himself things would be over shortly as the weeks slipped away.

He grew used to living on the  _ Negotiator _ . He got to know the troopers that served with him, particularly his officers. Particularly his Commander, who grew to be a familiar presence, always close by, either on the ship or the ground.

Cody asked after Dal-Voe frequently, along with the rest of the bridge officers. They came to Obi-Wan with little things, sometimes, small dolls or toys, little pieces of clothing. Obi-Wan accepted the little gifts, storing them carefully in his quarters until such a time as they returned to Coruscant.

Sometimes he looked at them, when he got a few hours of quiet, almost sensing the warmth with which they were intended. 

#

They had not made it back to Coruscant by the time he began to grow warm under his skin again. He scowled when he realized what was happening. He’d hoped, vaguely, that he might be spared a heat. But, without an infant close by, his body had decided to make his life more difficult once more.

They were on their way to offer back-up to Master Windu when the discomfort grew near unmanageable. There was not time to make a detour to some random planet, and he knew it. That… somewhat limited his options.

He scowled, sitting in his quarters and giving up on meditation. They were still several days from their destination, all the way on the other side of the Rim worlds. There was something amusing to the shape of his present situation. He was going into heat on a ship packed near to bursting with alphas. It should have presented a rather simple solution.

But the troopers were his men. They were under his command. The thought of ordering one of them to assist him made him feel ill. And even asking could be taken as an order. The troopers were so willing to help, they often seemed not to think about what the cost of assistance would be for them. 

He would, he supposed, have to just… handle things medically. He hadn’t done such a thing for two decades and he didn’t have fond memories of the activity. But needs must. He needed to be focused and ready by the time they made orbit.

Obi-Wan exhaled, resolving to go down to the medbay in the morning. He could only hope they actually had something to help. Otherwise, he realized, with a grimace, he’d just have to sweat it out in his quarters. He hated that idea even more than a medical intervention.

Three days of distraction and discomfort were unappealing.

He closed his eyes, working to steady his breathing, focusing back on finding peace through the Force. And that was when someone knocked at his door. He considered ignoring it, but only for a half-second. He rose to his feet with a sigh, sensing the Commander’s presence out in the hall. He wondered, vaguely, what had gone wrong now.

Cody was standing at attention outside his door, helmet under one arm and expression completely flat. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “What’s the emergency, Commander?”

Cody’s expression didn’t waver. He felt like a tightly coiled spring, inside, but that didn’t come through in his tone when he said, “I thought we should speak, sir. Perhaps…” He glanced down the hall. “In your quarters.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, aware, distantly, that he probably wasn’t thinking entirely clearly. Still. Cody rarely asked him for anything. He stepped back from the door, gesturing Cody inside. He took a few steps back to maintain some semblance of distance - Cody smelled  _ wonderfully  _ \- and said, “How can I help you?”

“Actually,” Cody said, keeping his gaze off to the side, “I came to see how I could help you. We can all tell that you’re…” He paused and swallowed, his nostrils flaring briefly as he scented the air. “You’re in need.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, wry and sharp amusement moving through his mind. His condition wouldn’t be uncomfortable just for him, he supposed. An entire ship of alphas, scenting an omega sweating out a heat for three days….

Well. At least they’d all be ready to fight by the time they reached their destination.

“Yes,” Cody said, as though Obi-Wan had made a useful contribution to their conversation. “And I-- Sir. Is there - there someone we should contact, for you?” His jaw clenched, and Obi-Wan watched him force himself to relax it. “General Skywalker?”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, dismissing the consideration. “No,” he said. “I told you before, he and I aren’t… It was an accident.” 

“And there’s no one else?” Cody asked, dragging Obi-Wan’s thoughts back to his own situation. He was still frowning over at the wall, holding himself rigidly still. “We can put out the word, see about getting someone, at least on a comm for you, and--”

“There’s no one else,” Obi-Wan said, as gently as he could.

Cody drew in a little breath and held it, but only for a moment before he dragged his gaze away from the wall. He met Obi-Wan’s eyes, his expression set when he said, “Well, then, I’d like to - to offer my assistance.”

Obi-Wan blinked, taken off of his guard. He’d not expected… Well. He’d tasted Cody’s interest on the air. But experiencing interest and wanting to act on it were two different things. And their ranks sat between them. He said, carefully, “I’d never require you to do such a thing.”

Cody nodded, standing there with his hands at his sides, fingers clenching in and out. “I know that. I. I’d want to. If you wanted help. I’d  _ want  _ to be the one to help you.”

Obi-Wan felt far too hot under his skin to be having the conversation. Standing in such close quarters with Cody had spiked his hormone levels. He took a breath, working to think clearly. Cody did not feel in any way pressured to make the choice. In fact, his emotions were all… desire and want, thick and heady.

Obi-Wan let out a breath, shaky, swamped by the hunger within Cody and, at the least, reassured that he would not be forcing Cody to do something he did not very much want to do. And it would resolve things relatively quickly. Let them get back to preparing for the battle. It would, likely, help clear the thoughts of all the other troopers on the ship. They’d all be distracted while he was… in his current state.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, reaching for the serenity inside his chest, focusing on examining the decision from all angles. He preferred to take an alpha he’d never see again. It made things so much simpler. But his options were limited and… Cody had never been anything but pleasant to work with. Strong and sure and--

And, in the end, the best option Obi-Wan could currently hope for. He exhaled and opened his eyes to find Cody watching him, eyes dark and focused. The quality of his gaze made heat pool in Obi-Wan’s gut even as he shivered down his spine.

“Thank you,” he said, hearing the rasp of his own voice. “I’d… appreciate the help.”

Cody made a soft sound, setting his helmet down too hard on the table. He looked a bit abashed about it, and Obi-Wan smiled at him, stretching out a hand to lock the door to his quarters. He raised an eyebrow when Cody stayed where he was, all coiled up with contained energy.

“I…” Cody cleared his throat, cheeks getting ruddy as he glanced off to the side for a moment before meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes again. “I’ve never - I don’t know exactly what to do.”

Obi-Wan’s chest ached, sudden and sharp, for all of his men, all of their brothers. Men shaped to a terrible purpose and tossed out into the galaxy with gaps in their grasp of the world. And still, they tried so hard to help. To do kindnesses for others. 

“That’s alright,” he said, taking a step closer, Cody tracking his movements with the steady intensity of a predator. He reached out, touching Cody’s hand - covered still with a glove - and tilting his head to the side. “I’ll help you figure it out.”

“Sir,” Cody gasped out, his other hand coming up, sliding across Obi-Wan’s side, around to his back, pulling him closer all at once. Some things were automatic, Obi-Wan supposed, including the dip of Cody’s mouth to his neck, the slide of skin on skin as he was scented.

“I think,” Obi-Wan said, baring more of his throat to exploration, “you should call me Obi-Wan.”

Cody rumbled in his chest, teeth grazing skin and oh, it did feel good, being held so tightly. The only problem was Cody’s armor, hard and cold and pressed all against him. But Obi-Wan could take care of that, running his hands across the planes of it, looking for clasps and connections. Those he could not reach with his fingers he handled with the Force.

Cody slid a hand across his shoulder and made a frustrated sound. He lifted his head from Obi-Wan’s neck, catching his glove with his teeth and pulling it off, tossing it to one side. And then his fingers were carding back through Obi-Wan’s hair, cupping the back of his head and Obi-Wan meant to turn his face to the side; he’d gotten out of the habit of kissing during his heats, it was… intimate, and he had stopped even hoping for intimacy years ago, but--

But Cody had never done any of this before. And Obi-Wan could feel how much Cody wanted to kiss him. He sank into it, instead of turning aside. Cody exhaled shakily against his mouth, and Obi-Wan tilted his head just so, guiding him into the kiss. 

It was early enough in his heat that he felt no pressing need to do more than trade deep kisses until his jaw ached with it and his lips felt tender. Want bubbled up inside him, spreading through his veins and touching each cell, until he had to work hands between them, pulling at the closures on his robes.

Cody made a surprised sound when he noticed and shifted back, eyes wide and intrigued as Obi-Wan shrugged off his outer tunic. He stopped breathing, for a moment, when Obi-Wan shed the undertunic and his thin shirt, and Obi-Wan wondered, through his burning thoughts, what Cody would possibly think about his skin.

He had more scars than most. Many of them hadn’t healed well, despite all the healer’s efforts. There was little soft about him, if that was what Cody was looking for; many alphas were, even if only subconsciously. Some of the scattered hair across his chest was already turning to gray. He dropped the undershirt and waited as Cody stared, wide-eyed.

“Kriffing hell,” Cody panted out, a beat later, hands sliding across Obi-Wan’s skin, tugging him close again. He ducked his head, kissing across Obi-Wan’s shoulder, want and desire spilling out of him, completely unchecked. “You’re so kriffing beautiful,” he rasped, and Obi-Wan’s teeth clicked shut, surprise tangling all his thoughts for a moment.

Cody took the opportunity to slide his hands to Obi-Wan’s waist, fingers dipping below his waistband on both sides. Cody made a soft sound, questioning, as he hesitated. Obi-Wan managed to drag enough sense back into his head to rasp, “Yes.”

Cody hooked his fingers and tugged, and Obi-Wan had thought it would make him more comfortable, if Obi-Wan were the one to remove his clothing first. It had certainly made Cody  _ something _ . He rumbled, a thick, low sound, and his hands roamed everywhere, stopping a breath away from Obi-Wan’s cock, already hard and aching.

“Can I?” Cody asked, glancing at him, his other arm curled around Obi-Wan as though to keep him from going anywhere. 

Obi-Wan blinked, gripping at him for balance, and intended to say something cleverer than, “Please.”

Cody’s eyes widened and he pressed closer, all at once, taking a kiss as his fingers curled around Obi-Wan’s cock. And that, at least, he must have had some practice with, though the grip felt awkward at first. Trying, Obi-Wan thought, to translate a movement only performed on himself to another body, to--

Obi-Wan gasped against his mouth, thoughts going sweetly offline. Cody seemed to have no concept of teasing or drawing things out. He just -- went for it, with a kind of single-minded determination, pulling away from the kiss after a moment to look down,  _ watching _ , his expression set with intensity.

It made Obi-Wan’s knees feel weak. He swallowed and managed to rasp out, “The bed.” Cody blinked, frowning for a moment. “We should go to the bed,” Obi-Wan added, because Cody had not actually slowed his touch, and, oh, each firm, sure stroke was dragging him closer and closer to the edge.

He tugged on Cody’s shoulders, and Cody said, glancing past Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “Yes.” He shook his head, took his hand away - Obi-Wan swallowed a cry of protest - and bent all at once. Obi-Wan  _ did  _ make a noise of surprise when he was lifted off of his feet, but Cody didn’t take him far, only to the bed, where he was dumped down with a surprising amount of care.

Cody stood at the side of the bed for a moment, looking down at him, expression open and hungry. Roving. Obi-Wan reached a hand up to him and said, “Come here, please.”

Cody made a strangled sound, reached for the hem of his blacks, and ripped his shirt off carelessly. Something tore, somewhere, Obi-Wan heard the seams give. He found he didn’t really care, attention captured by all the skin on display. He shivered, pulse getting faster as Cody climbed onto the tiny bunk, letting Obi-Wan curl a hand around the back of his neck to guide him down and close, into another kiss.

And Cody, who learned very fast, slid a hand down, fingers curling warm and sure, picking his rhythm right back up and oh, it was nicer, with Cody settling between his thighs, like he knew he belonged there, the fabric of his blacks rough on the insides of Obi-Wan’s legs.

Obi-Wan slid a hand down Cody’s skin, over flexing muscle, finding his waistband and tugging at it. Cody made a little sound, changing his pace, and shifting up onto one arm, hand planted by Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He stared down, expression openly hungry,  _ watching _ , and Obi-Wan had never been  _ observed _ , before, never been stared at as he panted, and it made his cheeks heat, made him terribly aware of how much he wanted, the splay of his thighs, and Cody kneeling between them.

He gripped Cody’s arm and the sheets, hips rocking helplessly up into his touch, sure and demanding and--

And Cody was still watching, expression rapt, when Obi-Wan cried out and spilled across his fingers, making a mess on his own stomach, nerves thrumming all over with pleasure. Cody dragged his fingers through the mess, Obi-Wan’s stomach jumping under his hand. He looked stunned, and Obi-Wan reached out, hazily catching his hand and, because he had promised to help Cody figure out what to do, guiding him down and back.

Cody’s breath punched out as his fingers brushed the inside of Obi-Wan’s thigh. He made a thick sound, fingers sliding across all the slick evidence of Obi-Wan’s arousal. Obi-Wan was not surprised when Cody stared down as he pushed a finger  _ in _ , making Obi-Wan’s hips twitch and dragging a noise from his throat.

“This is what you need?” Cody said, voice wrecked and awed, all at once. He twisted his hand, and Obi-Wan’s spine lit up. 

Obi-Wan gasped, because he was not used to so much sweetness, so much attention, so much -- He ground out, unthinking, “I need  _ you _ .”

And Cody went still, for just a moment, and then his hands were gone. Obi-Wan protested, the noise catching at his teeth, but Cody was only shoving his blacks down. His cock hung thick and heavy between his legs, the tip smeared all shiny already, as though just touching Obi-Wan had gotten him most of the way there.

Obi-Wan panted out, “Yes,” aching all over, “that’s, come here--”

There were some things, as it turned out, that Cody needed no help figuring out. He put a hand on one of Obi-Wan’s thighs, pushing up and out even as he shifted closer and - and he watched, watched the entire time he sank inside, gazing shifting between Obi-Wan’s expression and the place where they were joined.

Obi-Wan squirmed under the attention, shiveringly aware of each inch Cody pushed into him, of being filled. Cody panted as he pressed flush against Obi-Wan’s hips, open-mouthed and with a stunned expression, so much pleasure spilling out of him that it filled up all the available space in the room. It was a pure, undistilled sensation, so clear it felt almost drugging.

He felt so good, and Obi-Wan felt lit up inside, and it blended together, sweeping through Obi-Wan as Cody began to move. He started with a cautious, almost testing thrust, and then made a choking sound and just…. Went for it, fucking Obi-Wan hard and deep,  _ desperate _ .

Obi-Wan clung to him, crying out when he changed the angle, getting it just right and--and, perhaps unsurprisingly, it did not take long for Cody’s knot to swell. He shoved in, deep as he could, crying out as his head dropped, shaking as he came. Obi-Wan panted beneath him, pulse racing, the promise of another orgasm fading back, feeling the pressure of Cody’s knot inside, the thrum of satisfaction echoing all through his nerves and filling up his thoughts.

Cody dropped to his elbow, folding Obi-Wan up a little more, but Obi-Wan felt far too relaxed to complain. He curled an arm around Cody’s shoulders, tilting his face for a kiss that Cody immediately provided, slow and deep and more than a little sloppy. 

Cody hummed against his mouth and shifted, nuzzling back, working his arm under Obi-Wan’s head, stroking his other hand up and down Obi-Wan’s thigh. It was… an unexpected amount of touching. But it made Obi-Wan’s nerves sing sweetly, left him melting against the bed, a happy sigh slipping between his lips.

He shivered a bit when he felt the knot going down, Cody’s kisses growing more purposeful. Obi-Wan rocked his hips, experimentally, and Cody rumbled, snapping his own forward in response to the pressure.

Obi-Wan expected, vaguely, that their second time would be much like the first. Cody still felt overwhelmed with pleasure. But he was, as Obi-Wan had already noticed, a fast learner. He shifted around, keeping his thrusts short and shallow until he found the angle that made Obi-Wan cry out in surprise.

Obi-Wan caught sight of his smile, satisfied and sharp, as he did it again. And again. “You  _ like  _ that?” Cody asked, sounding pleased and thoughtful, and liking something was much different than needing it, Obi-Wan was aware. 

Obi-Wan flushed, feeling over-hot, all over, knowing he was staining red all down his neck and probably half his chest. He’d asked too much, really, of Cody. He managed to gasp out, “That’s not, you don’t have--”

Cody made a frustrated little sound and fucked in hard, cutting Obi-Wan off, asking, “Do you like it?”

And Obi-Wan nodded, helplessly, forgetting why he’d wanted to dissemble, stretching up off of the bed to snag a kiss and to pant, “ _ Yes _ . Yes, I like that.”

Cody made a thick sound and ground out, “I’ll give it to you, then.” He slid his hand across Obi-Wan’s stomach, fingers slick when he gripped Obi-Wan’s cock again and --oh. Oh, he seemed determined to find all of the things Obi-Wan liked, dragging an orgasm from him with near brutal efficiency.

Cody rolled them the third time, settling onto his back on Obi-Wan’s bunk, spread out like a piece of art. Obi-Wan straddled his hips, smiling down at him, punchily. Cody’s hands roamed all across Obi-Wan’s skin as Obi-Wan rose and fell over him, and Cody asked, “You like that?”

Obi-Wan nodded, hair clinging to his sweat-sticky skin, his hands braced on Cody’s chest for leverage, nothing but muscle under his palms, solid strength. He shifted to get Cody just  _ so _ , chasing both of their pleasure. And Cody reached up as he came, curling a heavy hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, pulling him down into another hungry kiss.

The questions just kept coming, as Cody slipped free of his body before the fourth time and bent over him, licking across skin, down Obi-Wan’s chest, down his stomach, asking, when Obi-Wan cried out, “You like that?” Obi-Wan barely managed an answer. He doubted it was coherent. Cody took it, correctly, as a yes.

He pulled Obi-Wan close, after that fourth time, Obi-Wan feeling the heat in his blood guttering down and out, thoroughly satisfied. Cody curled against him, chest warm at Obi-Wan’s back, both arms holding Obi-Wan close, and Obi-Wan could not help but melt into the embrace, deliciously satisfied and mostly boneless.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, drowsy and preempting the question, “I like this, too.”

Cody hummed, dropping soft kisses down the line of his neck and nuzzling closer. He curled an arm forward, palm settling across Obi-Wan’s stomach. Obi-Wan didn’t resist a single, fond eye roll. Alphas. They had a certain predictability. Cody felt exhausted and content, those feelings suffusing Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he shut his eyes, let out a breath, and fell into a dreamless, restful sleep.

#

Obi-Wan woke all pleasantly achy and warm. He stirred slowly, getting a murmured noise of complaint for his trouble. “Time to get up,” he said, shifting to dislodge Cody’s arm, only to have him grumble again and tighten his grip.

For a man who had - likely - never shared a bed with another person, Cody had adapted quickly. Mostly he’d done so by transforming into some kind of clinging vine. He had a leg over one of Obi-Wan’s, and, as Obi-Wan moved again, he shifted his grip into what Obi-Wan recognized as a grapple.

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan said, still thrumming with relaxation as he shoved at Cody’s arm. “We’re going to be needed on the bridge.”

Cody stirred, finally, his muzzy emotions sharpening with wakefulness. He went still as he woke, his breath even catching for a moment before he eased his grip. Obi-Wan sat up and looked down at him, tangled in the sheets and looking….

Obi-Wan blinked and looked away again. Cody had done him a tremendous favor, and then Obi-Wan had kept him from his bunk for the entire night. He’d done quite enough and had no right to  _ ogle  _ the man. He knew well enough that Cody would, likely, want nothing more to do with him. At least not in anything more than a professional capacity.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, rising from the bed and smothering a small wince, a reminder of the previous night’s pleasures that made his cheeks warm. He reached for his tunic on the floor, saw the state of it, and left it where it lay. He’d have to clean it, later. 

“I--yes.” He glanced over as he heard Cody shifting. He’d sat up and was watching Obi-Wan, dark eyes curious and sharp, gaze roving across Obi-Wan’s skin. There was plenty to see, Obi-Wan supposed. Marks had stained into his skin, afterimages of Cody’s fingers, his mouth, and the edges teeth, here and there. “Did -- are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat. “Thank you. I’m going to use the fresher. We have much work ahead of us.” He slipped through the door hurriedly, trying to ensure Cody did not catch sight of the way his attentions affected Obi-Wan. He could not bear to impose on Cody any further and--

And it was better not to see the lack of interest. Some methods of handling rejection ached less than others.

He cleaned himself methodically, treating it as a small ritual. By the time he stepped out, he felt stable and calm. He pulled on clean robes, glanced in the mirror on the wall to make sure there were not noticeable marks above his collar, and exhaled.

Cody was still in his quarters when Obi-Wan came out, with a sheet wrapped around his waist and his blacks neatly folded under one arm. He said, watching Obi-Wan, “I thought I’d borrow your fresher. If that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said. He hated to walk about all covered in the remains of a heat; he certainly didn’t blame Cody for wanting to clean up before going out among his brothers. “Take as long as you need.” He hesitated, and then drew himself together for the conversation he’d contemplated in the fresher.

“We’re going to need to… work together,” he said, carefully. “Treat one another just as we have been. We have a duty to maintain. However, if you - if you feel uncomfortable, after last night, I can request another--”

“No,” Cody interrupted, taking a sharp step forward, his eyes wide and his mouth thinned down. “That’s not, I don’t want you to do that. I want to stay here.”

That was a relief, at least. Obi-Wan had half-suspected that he’d want to leave on the next transport. “Good,” he said, smiling, and Cody’s expression shifted. He moved closer, and Obi-Wan reached out and patted Cody’s shoulder, realized he was touching bare skin, and could do nothing to change it at that point. “I think we work well together. We can maintain a professional accord, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” Cody said, hesitating for just a moment before he reached out and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, as well. They stood like that for a moment, until heat started to prickle all across Obi-Wan’s cheeks. 

He cleared his throat and nodded, releasing his grip and easing a step back. “ I’ll meet you on the bridge,” he said. He felt Cody watching him on the way out of the room; it left an itch between his shoulder blades. He didn’t know what to make of it, and so he sat it aside. They had an upcoming battle to focus on, anyway.

#

Cody watched him, throughout the rest of the day, from the corners of his eyes. Obi-Wan never figured out what to make of the attention. Perhaps Cody didn’t know what to think about what they’d done. Obi-Wan resolved to answer any questions he had, to give him time to process the experience.

It had not damaged their ability to work together, in any case. Cody remained calm and steady, solid as the bedrock of a planet as they discussed their strategies and plans. They were… perfectly professional, just as they’d always been. He even brought Obi-Wan a cup of caff as the day stretched on, nodding when Obi-Wan smiled his thanks. 

And if Obi-Wan felt a sharp pang when he finally crawled into his bunk - still messy from the previous evening - well. Such feelings were normal. He did not curl towards the wall, as he had done so often as a child. He stretched on his back, blinked at the ceiling, and reached out to the Force, hoping to ease the ache inside his chest. 

Loneliness was an old friend, at the very least. There, in a perverse way, to keep him company.

Eventually he slept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings in this chapter, either.

The war refused to end. Beating the Separatists back on one front only seemed to enable them to spring back up somewhere else, twice as ferocious and bent on destruction. There were always more plans to be made, always another battle to fight, always more losses to mourn.

The one-year anniversary of the battle at Geonosis came and then went, almost unnoted.

Obi-Wan lost battles and lost men, aching with each life extinguished in the Force. He wanted to protect all of them, to protect everyone on all the worlds thrown into madness and despair, but there was only so much to be done. He could only fight for all of them, as hard as he possibly could, and hope that would be enough.

It rarely was.

At least his heat seemed not to have damaged Cody’s ability to work with him. There were a few odd changes to his behavior, but nothing worrisome. He tended to, well. Stare. And he stood a little closer than he had before, perhaps; but, then, he’d been prone to closeness since Dal-Voe’s birth. 

They shared meals together, more frequently than not. It was easier to find time to eat if work could get done at the same time. Cody even accompanied him back down to the Temple when they finally returned - ever so briefly - to Coruscant.

Obi-Wan took care of his meetings with the Council and Senate before making his way to the crèche. He found Cody already there, watching some of the younglings play. One of the crèche masters was holding Dal-Voe, her Force signature full of contentment. Obi-Wan watched Cody for a moment before stepping up to stand beside him. He said, quietly, as Cody glanced over at him, “They’ll let you hold her, if you ask.”

Cody blinked, abashment drifting across his expression. “I didn’t…” He cleared his throat. “I thought I might bother them.”

“I doubt it,” Obi-Wan said, smiling at him and putting a hand on his arm. It was the first time he’d hazarded initiating a touch, after his heat. Cody did not jerk away from him or appear appalled, so Obi-Wan left his hand there, guiding Cody forward.

The crèche master was happy enough to hand Dal-Voe over when asked, talking about how much she’d grown for a moment before a squabble among some of the older children drew her away. Obi-Wan adjusted Dal-Voe’s blanket - she’d grown so much in only a few months, babbling happily up at him, her eyes already darkened to match Anakin’s exactly.

He released the soft pang in his chest and shifted Dal-Voe over to Cody’s arms, where she immediately gurgled a laugh, trying to grab at his face. “I thought she’d be bigger by now,” Cody said, adjusting his grip on her, cutting Obi-Wan a quick look of concern. “She’s alright?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, thinking about how quickly the clones aged. “She’s fine,” he said. “Doing quite well. It’ll just take some time for her to grow.”

Cody nodded, attention turned back to Dal-Voe, who had grabbed his chestplate with both hands and was trying to get one edge into her mouth. He snorted a little laugh, hand on her back as he looked out across the rest of the garden. There were children scattered about everywhere. No one even seemed to be arguing.

“You grew up here, too,” Cody said, softly, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“Oh, yes. I remember playing in these rooms.” Those days felt long ago and far away. He thought of Bant and Quinlan. Bant, he thought, was still at the Temple. He should speak with her while planetside. Quinlan…

Well. Last he had heard, no one had seen Quinlan in some time. So many people that he’d known were gone, either lost forever in the Force or simply drifted away, alive somewhere but no longer part of Obi-Wan’s life. He’d likely never see his son again, never--

“And if we have a child,” Cody started, and Obi-Wan’s thoughts derailed as he looked over. They’d not spoken directly of what had happened. Of his heat. He hadn’t expected it to come up in the crèche. He hadn’t expected it to come up  _ ever _ . “If they’re Force sensitive, this is where they’d grow up?”

Obi-Wan took a breath, wondering if perhaps he should have explained that he had not, actually, been unable to take a contraceptive before his heat. He said, softly, “I suppose they would, yes. If I’d gotten pregnant.”

Cody nodded. “What if they aren’t?”

Obi-Wan wondered, briefly, if the turn of his thoughts towards Satine and their child had somehow sparked this conversation. But that was impossible. He sighed, shrugging, because the subject was a mute point. “I’m not with child, Commander.”

Cody glanced over at him, one eyebrow arching. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was planning to say was shoved to the side as two of the older younglings ran up, faces flushed and eyes bright with excitement. “Master Kenobi!” one cried, pulling at his robes, “come quickly! We need your help!”

Neither felt upset, just excited. Obi-Wan smiled fondly down at them, and gestured Cody to follow him, allowing the children to lead them deeper into the gardens. They stopped in a field full of flowers, where there were half a dozen other children who all cried out with excitement and jumped to their feet, crowded around.

“What, exactly, is it you need help with?” Obi-Wan asked, listening to them chatter as they tugged at his robes and Cody’s armor.

“This,” a little Bothan girl said, shoving a mess of flowers into his hands. “We can’t do it right.” 

Obi-Wan blinked at the flowers for a moment and then laughed, noticing the careful looping of the stems. “Oh,” he said, “do you still make yourselves crowns?” He’d spent more than one afternoon doing such things with Quinlan and Bant, before…

Before the world changed.

But perhaps only  _ his  _ world had changed. Perhaps, there at the Temple, there would always be children, sitting in a meadow and weaving flowers together. The thought eased something in his chest, and he felt content to sit with them, carefully instructing them in the best way to complete their work.

Cody settled beside him, a momentary surprise. Obi-Wan felt certain that there were things he’d rather do. Certainly many of the other troopers had found distractions on Coruscant that… entertained. Still, Cody felt content and focused, eventually placing Dal-Voe on the soft grasses, where she rolled herself over and pushed to sit up, watching them all with bright, shining eyes. Obi-Wan lifted her into his lap, setting petals to swirling just out of her reach as he continued his instruction.

The children ran off, eventually, laughing with delight, anointed with flowers. Obi-Wan leaned back on one hand, watching them go, smiling. He felt more at peace in that moment than he had in… so long, and turned to look over at Cody, a question on his lips.

Cody shifted forward as he did, lifting his hands, holding a perfect ring of blue and purple blossoms. The crowns the children had made had been messy, uneven despite Obi-Wan’s instruction. Cody’s creation was perfect, and he looked terribly intent as he settled it, carefully, on Obi-Wan’s head.

Obi-Wan blinked at him - they were, really, quite close - and shivered. He smelled the sweet perfume of the blossoms in his hair and felt the warm sun on his face. “Commander?” he asked, for Cody was just… looking at him, straightening the crown a little before his hand slipped down, fingers brushing Obi-Wan’s cheek.

“They suit you,” Cody said, his eyes dark and warm. Obi-Wan’s heart gave a lurch in his chest, sudden and treacherous, like the first crack in the ice across a frozen lake when you placed a foot wrong, and it was a relief, really, when Dal-Voe fell sideways in his lake, giggling on the way down to fall between them, waving her arms in the air.

Obi-Wan’s comm went off, even as his daughter laughed, further shoving aside the ruinous emotions in his chest, the things he would  _ not  _ let himself feel again, that he had never  _ expected  _ to feel again. Not after Satine. Not after… everything.

He said, as they left the Temple and boarded a transport, needing to remind himself of exactly what they were to one another, “I’m glad, Commander, that we can still work together. That we can remain professional.” That was all they were. Two comrades. Cody had only - only assisted him, through a challenging time. That was it. That was  _ all _ .

Cody looked over at him, a slight frown on his mouth even as he reached out, just… bumping the back of his hand against Obi-Wan’s, lightly. He said, “I understand the necessity. We have a job to do, right now. That has to come first.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, aching inside his chest. He wondered if he’d ever see Cody again, once they no longer  _ had a job to do _ . It was almost a relief to find out they had another mission.

#

They ended up working with the 501st on their next mission, what looked to be a lengthy planet-side battle. Anakin stopped by the  _ Negotiator  _ before they reached their destination, Ahsoka in tow. They shared a meal before she and R2 took off to, no doubt, get into trouble somewhere.

Obi-Wan leaned in the doorway, watching her run off. He could feel the echoes of her bond with Anakin, growing strong. Thriving. “You’re doing well with her,” he said, stepping back into the room to let the door close, to find Anakin sitting with his hands clenched on the table, gaze off to one side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Anakin said, and then blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair. “Thank you, Master. It’s a challenge.”

“I’m sure.” Obi-Wan gathered up his plate; the food was little more than reconstituted proteins, made for long-term storage. He stacked the dishware neatly and then leaned a hip against the table, watching Anakin. “But I think that’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

Anakin frowned. The servos in his right hand hummed, loud in the quiet of the room. “It’s….I tried to… you let one of the troopers help with your heat?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, taken so off-guard that for a moment he could not think what to say. It didn’t last long, thankfully. “I did, yes,” he shrugged, and then cocked his head to the side. “How did you know?”

Anakin’s mouth twisted, briefly, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He said, still looking over at the far wall, his tone flat and hard, “He’s scent-marking you. Whichever one it was.”

Obi-Wan considered that, a protest on his tongue and frozen there. Cody  _ did  _ have a tendency to touch him. Nothing untoward. Just brief brushes, here and there, as they worked alongside one another. He, perhaps, frequently took his gloves off, first. “Ah,” Obi-Wan said, finally, feeling pleased warmth spreading up the back of his neck and trying to push it down.

“You didn’t know?” Anakin asked, shifting around.

Obi-Wan shrugged. No alphas had ever tried to scent-mark him before. That seemed an odd thing to tell Anakin, so he only said, “We’ve been very busy. And I’m sure he didn’t intend anything by it.”

The troopers hadn’t been instructed on etiquette between alphas and omegas. Cody wouldn’t know that scent-marking indicated… continued interest. Obi-Wan knew that, and brutally shoved down the brief thrum of pleasure in his chest. Anakin made a little sound in the back of his throat, still frowning, and asked, “Who was it? I’ll talk to them.”

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not necessary.” He had no idea  _ why  _ Anakin would even make such an offer. He’d have to have a discussion with Cody about social indicators, at some point. Probably sooner rather than later. Whenever they had a free moment. But it could, at least, wait until morning. 

“Was it your Commander?” Anakin asked, apparently unwilling to let it go. He had yet to relax his jaw. 

“Anakin, stop,” Obi-Wan said, hearing the chiding in his own tone. Such questions were… inappropriate, at best. And he wasn’t even sure why Anakin  _ cared _ . It seemed odd, as did the unhappy twist of Anakin’s emotions, sitting between them. He said, to change the subject and hopefully soften Anakin’s expression, “I saw Dal-Voe when I was on Coruscant.” He decided, based on Anakin’s odd mood, not to mention that Cody had joined him.

Anakin exhaled, hard, and leaned forward over the table. “You did? How was she?”

Obi-Wan smiled back at him. He’d been considering the clone’s lack of experience, but he had no past history of speaking about his children. He and Master Jinn had not discussed… their lost child, nor the son he’d left on Mandalore. But those were old pains, scarred over long since. He said, “She’s growing quickly.”

“She looked healthy?” Anakin stood up, coming around the table and, for a moment, Obi-Wan though Anakin intended to embrace him. Instead, Anakin kept a space between them, pacing over towards the door and back again.

They spoke of little more than the child they shared, Anakin’s expression fluctuating as they spoke, until his mouth finally settled into a downward cast and he asked, “She’ll be alright there, won’t she? With the - without her parents? Her family?”

Obi-Wan took a breath. He’d expected something similar. Anakin had not grown up in the crèche. He’d not had the same experiences. Obi-Wan shrugged, smiling at him softly, “She’s with her family right now, Anakin. The entire Order is her family, just as we are.”

“I know that,” Anakin said, rocking his jaw side to side, sighing. “I do. I just. I worry. About her. You know?” He glanced over, eyes dark and his hands flexing into fists at his sides. “What might happen to her if we’re not there, and…” He swallowed.

“I can’t think of anywhere safer than the crèche in the Jedi Temple,” he said, gently. “Especially right now. She certainly wouldn’t be safer here.”

Anakin shuddered, all over and all at once, and nodded. “No, that’s… I know. Just -- you’re really alright with her being there? She might not even remember us, next time we manage to get back.” 

Obi-Wan walked over to him, leaning against the wall beside him. He knew that, when Anakin got so wound up, there’d be no sitting him down. “She’s not going to forget you,” he said, quietly.

Anakin grimaced. “Chancellor Palpatine said that - that maybe it would be better for her on Naboo. With my mother.”

“Chancellor--” Obi-Wan managed not to ask  _ why  _ Anakin had been discussing their child with Chancellor Palpatine, but only barely. He knew that would close the conversation between them, effectively as closing a door. Any perceived slights against the Chancellor seemed to have that effect. 

Instead, he took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it. “Do you remember,” he said, softly, “what it was like, growing up outside of the Temple? Not knowing what you could do? Just knowing you were different from everyone around you?” Anakin stiffened at his side. They rarely spoke of his early childhood, of the dark times he’d gone through; he’d worked so hard to hide his hurt, even as a child. “Everyone else knowing you were different, too? Some of them trying to hurt you, others just--”

“Stop,” Anakin said, taking a lurching step away from the wall, reaching up to scrub at the back of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Anakin shivered under his touch, breath escaping in a rush. When he looked over, his eyes were dark. He said, after a moment, “I just - he said, on Naboo, parents raise their own children, and I thought....” 

Obi-Wan said, quietly, “We are not from Naboo. But Master Hullima is. You could speak with her about your concerns. Her child grew up in the crèche.”

Anakin nodded and reached out, after a moment. He said, hesitating there close, hand sliding up Obi-Wan’s arm, “I wish, sometimes, that I’d….” He trailed off, grimacing and looking to the side as his emotions thrashed across their bond, shaking his head and stepping back. “I should let you rest.”

“And find your Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, exhaling heavily when Anakin stepped from his quarters. He had a headache building in the base of his skull, wondering, as ever, if he’d said the things Anakin needed to hear.

#

Obi-Wan meant to mention the scent-marking to Cody. He really did. There just wasn’t a good time in the coming days, and, besides, it was not an intentional act. Cody had helped him out tremendously. It felt… off, to point out an innocent mistake that wasn’t harming anyone.

They all had larger concerns. He’d probably stop on his own, Obi-Wan decided, and let the matter slip from his thoughts. That was before they ended up spending days negotiating an agreement on Hegrotrov. 

He was introduced to Viscount Ertik, the man who handled the majority of the negotiations for the Hegrotrovians. They’d agreed only to allow a small delegation planetside. Obi-Wan had selected a few troopers and hoped that everything didn’t go sideways as Ertik looked up from the table where he was waiting for them.

They’d been led into an open-air meeting room. The capital city sprawled out beneath them, the palace floating overhead in lazy circles. Gauzy curtains fluttered in the windows, the breeze from their movement reducing some of the unpleasant heat in the air. 

There was a large round table in the room, covered with a variety of small statues. There was next to no open space and only two chairs. Ertik - a tall humanoid with startling yellow-green skin - stood and smiled. “Ah,” he said, “you must be the Republic delegation.”

“And you must be the Viscount,” Obi-Wan said, as Ertik came around the table, all three of his eyes looking Obi-Wan up and down. He cast a brief look at the troopers, dismissive, before returning his attention to Obi-Wan and stretching out a hand.

“Guilty as charged,” Ertik said, his skin very smooth - scaled, Obi-Wan realized - and slightly cool. Ertik’s smile stretched wider, his golden eyes shifting to a brighter, orange color as he stroked a thumb across Obi-Wan’s knuckles. “And suddenly very glad this duty fell to--”

He cut off, abruptly, at a low rumble of sound past Obi-Wan’s shoulder. It was odd, the way the sound sped heat down Obi-Wan’s back. He glanced back, blinking with surprise, and found Cody there, expressionless even with his helmet tucked under one arm, his dark eyes fixed on Ertik.

“Ah,” Ertik said, pulling his hand back, eyes fading back to gold and then almost to gray. The rumble faded, and Obi-Wan had to blink back at Cody again, surprise and puzzlement surging through him in near equal measure. He  _ knew  _ well enough that alphas could get… subvocal with one another. He hadn’t expected it to leave him with a warm heat in his stomach, or for it to make his heart beat faster behind his ribs.

He shook the feeling away. He needed to focus on the negotiations before him, and, anyway, he knew well enough it didn’t mean anything. Alphas didn’t….growl over him. Perhaps Cody was picking up something dangerous about the Viscount. Reading anything more into it would have been a mistake.

“My apologies, General.” Ertik gestured at the table, glanced once more at Cody, and sank down into his own chair. Obi-Wan took a breath, set aside the odd warmth in his veins. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it, and he remembered too well how that had ended, remembered Mandalore and….

He got down to business.

And he meant to discuss the… growling with Cody. He meant at least to speak about it, to point Cody towards an alpha who could - perhaps - help him understand what he was doing, but the Separatists interrupted the negotiations with a bombing.

By the time the smoke cleared, Obi-Wan lifting rubble off of his troopers and pulling Cody to his feet, it no longer felt relevant to the issues at hand.

#

Besides, Cody was hardly the only alpha to engage in vocal displays in his presence over the following months. 

Anakin had rarely given in to such blatant lapses of control, despite his occasional difficulties with… moderating his reactions. That lasted until Obi-Wan ended up thrown into close contact with Satine for the first time in so many years.

She looked so much as he remembered her, cool and sharp-edged as the frost across glass on a winter’s morning. He’d processed his feelings for her long ago, or so he’d always believed, but something tore down the center of his chest when he saw her, the flowers in her hair throwing his mind years into the past.

He could still recall the way her hair had felt, sliding between his fingers, silken and smooth.

Satine was snappish, sharp, with him, the way they’d treated one another for… most of their prior relationship. He responded in kind, falling into old habits. It was as though nothing had changed, as though they had not been separated for so many years.

As though they did not have a child together, somewhere on Mandalore, and Obi-Wan hoped - hoped he would stay well away from the war. Hoped that Mandalore would retain its status as a neutral observer. Hoped for so many things.

Perhaps the hoping distracted him from considering just how  _ much  _ nothing had changed. Satine still snapped more fiercely at his alpha companion, blue eyes always blazing when they landed on Anakin, who, for his part, took each challenging glare at face value. Master Jinn had been willing to let her barbs slide off; Anakin barely lasted through their first conversation before he’d straightened to his full height, expression all barely-controlled thunder.

Obi-Wan exhaled, attempting to redirect the flow of conversation to some subject they’d be able to agree upon. All he succeeded in accomplishing was getting Satine to sweep from the room, her chin lifted imperiously as she said, “Accompany me, General Kenobi, we have more to discuss.”

And when she stretched out a hand, hesitance in the gesture that Obi-Wan was half-sure he imagined, Anakin rumbled at his shoulder. Obi-Wan turned to stare at him, incredulous, and Anakin had, at least, the good grace to look abashed, color staining across his ears as he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should go and ensure the pilot has us on course,” Obi-Wan said, cool, working to keep as much frustration from his tone as possible.

Anakin winced a little, but nodded, feeling abashed through the Force as he said, “Of course,” and turned, shoulders stiff as he walked away.

Obi-Wan sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, gathering himself before turning back to Satine. “My apologies for Anakin’s disposition,” he said, wry. “I thought perhaps you’d get on better with him. He’s got a temper to match yours.”

Satine narrowed her eyes at him. “My temper is perfectly modulated,” she said, gesturing with her head and strolling down the corridor, towards her chambers.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, “that’s what he thinks, too.” 

She made a little sound, dismissive, as they stepped through the doors, into the finely appointed chamber beyond. She waved out all of her handmaidens and clerks, leaving them alone in a space that felt, at once, too large and too small. Obi-Wan stayed near the door, hundreds of sharply dismissed day dreams over the years rising within him to be quashed once more.

How often he’d imagined, on dark, lonesome nights, full of hurts, being alone with her again. How often he’d imagined that she’d said something different last time they’d met. How often he’d thought about Mandalore…

“You did not tell me you’d taken a mate,” she said, pouring some liquor into a glass across the room, all the sharp edges in her tone gilded.

The boldness of the comment made him blink. He’d long ago stopped yearning to take a mate. Some paths were simply not for him and something about him ensured that he would serve the Force on his own. Still, he was used to recovering quickly, and rallied as her fingers pressed hard against the glass. He shrugged. “I’ve taken more than  _ one _ , to help with my heats, though I don’t see--”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, setting the cup down without even taking a swallow, her mouth pulling down in the corners. She narrowed her eyes at him. “And you know that. Don’t try Jedi double-talk with me.”

He exhaled. “Considering one’s response carefully isn’t double-talk, Duchess.” She pursed her lips at him, her hair full of flowers that reminded him of a small cabin, years ago, and the bare expanse of her shoulders. He continued, looking aside, his thoughts turning, for an aching moment, to dark eyes and steady hands, the rough texture of a rigged scar under his fingers, an ache in his chest that grew by the day, with each battle they fought together, despite all his best efforts. He shook those thoughts away. “But, in answer to your… personal assumption. I have not.”

He heard her sharp little inhale, felt her take a step closer. “But,” she said, “Skywalker…?”

Obi-Wan blinked again, the suggestion surprising though, he thought, it should not have been. Anakin’s vocal display was… indicative of a certain kind of interest. But Anakin still carried around Senator Amidala’s scent, worn all over his clothing and skin. He’d chosen an omega.

And he had not been who Obi-Wan’s thoughts turned to, anyway, a realization that sent an unpleasant jag through his emotions. He set that aside to consider later. “He’s overprotective from so long on the front,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging. “Nothing more. I’ll discuss it with him later.”

“Then,” Satine said, her eyes getting brighter as she took a step towards him. “You are--”

“Master,” Anakin said, the door springing open suddenly as the ship shuddered all over. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

And whatever Satine might have said slipped away from them, carried by time into the past as, once more, the universe endeavored to kill them all. And it felt like re-breaking a bone to allow it to set properly, to admit what he’d kept to himself for so many years, to tell her, finally, that if she’d only asked he would have stayed with her, the admission leaving him feeling empty inside.

It was a relief when she did not ask him to throw aside his robes and return with her to Mandalore after the ship was made safe. Once, Obi-Wan would have laid aside his vows gladly for her.

But that had been years ago, almost in another life. Even the whisper of a name against his ear as they parted, their son’s name, finally given to him, was not enough to change the course of history.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asked, careful and soft, when they ended their mission. Obi-Wan nodded; the tangle of emotions in his chest could be picked through, later. None of them were fatal. 

Not yet.

#

Moments of peace began to feel precious, like fleeting treasures, time stolen away from the all-consuming beast of the war. Obi-Wan sometimes took them without planning. He’d begun his evening looking through some old texts for a specific article he wanted to share with Ahsoka about the history of the Order. 

He ended up coming upon an old book of poetry, it’s blue cover bringing back sharp, sad memories of the distant past. He sighed, turning it over in his hands, wondering how it had even  _ gotten  _ from his quarters at the Temple to the  _ Negotiator _ .

Bruck had fallen, only a few weeks ago. He’d saved an escaping ship of civilians, in the process, but…

Obi-Wan sat, cracking the book open and thumbing through, thinking of a time when disagreements with his fellows had been his largest cause for concern. The child he had been then, at eleven or twelve, felt like someone completely different.

The poetry within was, really, quite good, from one of his favorite poets, Mrushi Kleng, who had left the Order a thousand years ago to write such beautiful words. Obi-Wan trailed his fingers over the ink - books were so rare, so precious - wondering if Bruck and Quinlan had ever resolved their differences, before it had been too late.

He looked up, torn from his recollections, at a knock on the door. He scrubbed a hand across his face and waved the door open, calling, “Come in, Commander.”

Cody stepped in, carrying a tray loaded with what passed for a meal aboardship. They’d scheduled a discussion of their upcoming battle, Obi-Wan remembered. “Right on time,” Obi-Wan said, wishing he’d not let the time get away from him. “Anything interesting on the menu?

“Of course not,” Cody said, crossing the room and setting down the tray. He’d only hesitated a moment upon stepping into Obi-Wan’s quarters, gaze slipping - for a click - towards his bed. They did not usually meet in his quarters. Cody dragged his gaze back, cleared his throat, and asked, nodding towards the book Obi-Wan held, “What’s that?”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan had nearly forgotten about the little tome. He smiled, holding it out. “Poetry.”

Cody took the book - their fingers brushed, just an accident, Obi-Wan knew, even though it made his heart beat faster - and stared down at the page for a moment before flipping it. One eyebrow arched up, and Obi-Wan asked, half-smiling, “That bad?”

Cody cut him a look, shrugging his shoulders when he said, “It’s just… different. That’s all.” He offered the book back.

“Mm,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s not for everyone. I have others you might enjoy more, if you want to look through them. Histories and so on.” He gestured at his little collection. He lifted a bowl of soup - it reminded him more than a little of some of the meals he’d eaten on Mandalore - and blew across it as Cody looked over the spines of the books, fingers tracing the titles.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Cody said, after a moment, something tense in the line of his neck. “We didn’t have anything like this on Kamino. It’s… I wasn’t trained to read these kinds of things.”

Obi-Wan’s heart gave a warning ache, sitting there with Cody looking lost. He sat aside his soup without thinking, standing and taking the two steps necessary to stand at Cody’s shoulder. “Well,” he said, “training isn’t everything. Let’s see. There’s some in here about the Jedi’s war with the Sith. And the Old Republic. This one is about the Guardians of the Whills, and--”

“Who are they?” Cody asked, and Obi-Wan should not have been, perhaps, surprised that he’d be interested in such a group. The troopers were all so very protective of the Republic. 

Obi-Wan nudged his hand a little, pulling out the relatively thick tome and handing it over. “You can find out all about them, if you want,” he said, smiling across at Cody who was… staring at him, instead of the book.

Obi-Wan’s gut tightened, all at once, but he gripped the delicate blossom of feeling brutally, trying to stop it before it could spread and failing. He felt another crack in the ice, opening under his feet, and shuddered. 

He’d learned, very well, not to engage in such emotional frivolity. He’d, of course, bear a passing fascination for the Commander. He was, likely, the first naked person Cody had ever seen, besides his brothers.

Certainly the first he’d touched.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, breaking their eye contact and gesturing back towards the cooling soup. “We should eat,” he said. “And I believe we have orders from the Senate to review.” Cody nodded, following him back over to the little couch, where they fell into another discussion of the war. 

But he took the book about the Guardians, when he left.

Obi-Wan hoped, running his fingers over the cover of the poetry book once more, that Cody would enjoy it.

He must have. He requested more information about the subject the following day. He asked, a few days after that, if he were permitted to tell the other troopers about it, too, and Obi-Wan encouraged him to share as he wished, bemused by the interest in the subject.

His bemusement faded when he came upon one of his men, dying in some barren wasteland, blown full of too many blaster holes to be put back together. Obi-Wan fell by the man’s head - his helmet was gone - and brushed back his hair, anyway, hoping that  _ maybe _ \--

He froze in the middle of pulling aside the trooper’s armor when the man gasped, haltingly, “I am - I am one with--”

And for a moment Obi-Wan could only look at him, one more man turned into a corpse, staring sightlessly skyward, murmuring a  _ prayer _ , one he’d adopted because the Kaminoans had given the troopers none of their own, had not even given them the prayers of Mandalore, which were  _ fitting  _ for warriors, and--

Obi-Wan curled over the man, took his hand, and helped him find his way through the rest of the mantra, stroking a hand back over his head until he exhaled, slowly, and did not inhale again. Obi-Wan startled, some time later, at a touch on his shoulder. He looked up, his vision blurred, and felt Cody more than saw him.

“Sir?” Cody asked, grip sure and steady. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, because Cody did not mean the torn and ragged wound inside of him, the one that only reflected the greater agony of the Force itself. He stood, clearing his throat. “I’m fine.”

#

There was always another problem, another weight falling across their shoulders, another scheme by the Separatists to cause as much hurt as possible. Most of the time, it involved droid armies, but sometimes they got different, equally unpleasant surprises.

Obi-Wan wished, vaguely, that he’d had troopers with him on Vou Prime, but he’d traveled down to the planet only to gain permission to travel through Vouian space. It should have taken - at most - perhaps an hour. 

He sat down with the Vouian vizier over a cup of steaming tea, making idle small talk. The Vouians were relatively stout, short and segmented, each segment with its own set of arms and eyes, none of which blinked very often. The vizier held her cup daintily in a hand with seven many-jointed fingers, nodding along as Obi-Wan complimented the room, edging the conversation around towards establishing the rights to use Vouian hyperspace lanes.

Vouians had no discernable emotions in the Force, at least not for Obi-Wan. Their feelings were too… strange. Unfamiliar and fuzzy. But he’d handled discussions with sapients he could not read before. And the Vouians had a reputation for being friendly enough to Republic envoys.

The tea itself tasted awful, but he’d consumed worse in the name of diplomacy. He steadily drank it, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of grittiness it left on his tongue. He made to set down the cup, empty, as he finally mentioned the ships waiting in orbit above him, and blinked when he missed the table. He dropped the cup on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and reeling, for the room spun around at the sharp movement of his head. His stomach lurched unpleasantly, bile burning in the back of his throat. He thought, his mind feeling vague and hazy, that he ought not to vomit on his host. “I think…” he said, trying to focus as the vizier separated into three separate images, “something in your tea may be affecting me.”

All three viziers stood, smoothing out their garb. “I should hope so,” she said, stepping around the table. Obi-Wan didn’t need the thrum of warning through the Force to tell him that things were going sideways. He rose, or tried to, the entire room seemed to be spinning around on an unbalanced axis.

He reached out for the table, missed, and caught the floor with one hand on the way down. His heart raced off-rhythm in his chest, missing beats so frequently that it hurt. Obi-Wan worked to breathe steadily, lifting his head as the vizier came to a stop in front of him. He gazed up at her, lights going off all around her, behind his eyes, inside his head. “What did -- you do?” he managed to rasp.

She knelt down, head cocking to the side as she said, “My, you are a strong one.” She looked past his shoulder and nodded at someone. “But you’re still going to tell us everything we want to know. Everything the Separatists are willing to pay us for. And then, well. It seems we may receive even  _ more  _ credits for delivering your body. Do you know, I’ve never  _ seen  _ a bounty as large as the one we were offered for  _ you _ ?”

Obi-Wan scowled, marshalling the focus to lunge at her, and hands closed around his shoulders, pulling him back and down. The floor felt like it was writhing under his back as fingers bit against his arms and chest, pushing him flat, holding him as he tried to push and shove them away.

There was a bite of sharp pain against the side of this throat and a feeling of coolness under his skin. He snarled, “I’m not going to tell you, ah, anything,” and someone pressed something soft and sweet-smelling over his nose and mouth.

The vizier leaned over him, petted his hair, and said, “Oh, you will.” She looked away again, her tone changing as his world faded all to black and grey. “Take him and get him secured. Inform me when he’s ready for questioning.”

And everything went away, just for a while.

#

Obi-Wan woke up, or possibly he didn’t. His thoughts were all foggy and slow. He was, possibly, in a small, brightly lit room. Someone had tied his arms behind his back and left him lying on a wobbling, color-changing floor. He seemed to have at least three more arms than he ought to and his head was splitting in half.

His skin felt too tight all over, tingly and stinging. His robes felt coarse against it, as though he could feel each stitch. He was nauseous, terribly so, but his gut also felt hot and tight. His spine burned and so did his thighs, like he’d woken up at the end of a heat spent alone and aching, which was  _ impossible. _ His heat had been… he couldn’t recall, exactly. Not long ago. He felt so fiercely uncomfortable he could not help squirming, trying to ease the discomfort with movement.

It did not help.

He groaned, the sound muffled by the gag between his teeth. His mouth tasted awful. He wanted to retch, and resisted, reaching out desperately to the Force, trying to clear his thoughts even just slightly.

He had been… captured. He recalled that much through the haze. Drugged. His captors wanted information. He couldn’t allow them to coax it out of him and he did not trust his ability to keep his mouth shut in his current state. 

He did not know what they’d put into him, but it had left him shivering and burning hot all at once, unable to hold a thought still for more than a click. Fortunately, he did not have to think much to better his situation. He grunted, ignoring all the pain and discomfort in his body and squirming around.

Obi-Wan’s mind kept insisting he had more limbs - or sometimes less - than he knew he did. But the Jedi practiced control for a reason. He closed his eyes - continuing to see brilliant flashes of colors and shapes - and focused. 

He managed to twist his arms around, getting them in front of his body, ignoring the subsequent pain in his shoulders. He looked down at the wraps around his wrists and raised his hands to his mouth, dragging out the gag with numb fingers. He panted for a moment, open-mouthed, and then, looked around.

There was a metal chair in the room. Lots of straps on it, he noticed. There was a stand beside it, and he reached for it, intending to pull himself up. He overbalanced it, instead, spilling the contents across the floor. A number of strange syringes rolled around him.

Obi-Wan blinked, feeling hotter by the moment, and grabbed one. He managed to stand with the help of the chair and the Force, wobbling on his feet for a moment. A door, he thought. He needed a door.

He found one across the room. It took him an indeterminate amount of time to get there; he kept forgetting what he was doing, or even why he was doing it. But he made it, leaning a shoulder against the wall - hissing at the pressure - and trying the handle. Nothing happened, and he rested there, panting, his ability to control his thoughts fading in and out.

He was burning up, aching all over, a familiar kind of incineration. The discomfort kept him grounded, kept him from losing track of what was happening completely. He blinked when the door clicked, some amount of time later, watching it swing open ever so slowly.

Obi-Wan shoved the first person through the door forward with the Force without even thinking about it. They made an interesting sound when they hit the door and then crumpled. The second individual spun towards him, and Obi-Wan stumbled into them, the syringe in his hand finding the meat of one leg.

He depressed the plunger automatically and listened to the individual scream, following them down to the ground as they grappled at him. Their grip went weak after a moment. They just lay there, whimpering. Obi-Wan shook his head, holding onto the Force to make the world stay level. There was a weapon at the individual’s belt. 

Obi-Wan managed to grab it on the second try, trying to get enough air into his lungs and failing. He pushed to his feet again, gasping, and stumbled forward. He did not know where he was, but he knew he didn’t want to be there. Getting out, any way he could, consumed his thoughts as he stumbled and tripped forwards.

He slipped in and out of awareness, losing track of where he was and what he’d done. He blinked down once and found his blaster smoking, though he did not recall firing it. He found blood running down his arm and had no clear recollection, after, of how that had happened.

There were alarms going off, possibly. He acknowledged that the noise may have only been inside his head. Eventually, the tunnels around him changed, or he thought they did, anyway. His vision was greying out around the edges and he felt so hot, burning up under all of his robes. He almost fell as he found a window, finally.

He was… high in a tower. He didn’t recognize the city below him, which wobbled around alarmingly. Speeders and other craft moved through the air in patterns that made him want to vomit. The alarms screamed against his ears. He needed to get out. He needed to get back to the  _ Negotiator _ . Cody would be there, he thought, absently.

He looked down at the blaster in his hands, raised it numbly, and fired until the window shattered outward.

Later, he would tell Anakin he didn’t remember deciding to step up onto the sill and jump outwards. It just seemed like the most efficient way out. He fell through the air, eyeing a craft moving towards him, pulling on the Force, and he saw the alien’s expression when he landed on the front view shield, knees bent to absorb the impact. 

The craft wobbled for a moment before stabilizing. Obi-Wan slid sideways, towards the side of the craft, and banged an elbow against it until the driver opened the hatch. He mostly fell inside, the driver screaming and scrambling away from him, pressing against the far side of the craft, making no attempt to continue piloting.

Obi-Wan would have sworn if he had the breath for it and if he remembered the words.

He collapsed into the seat, instead, grabbed the controls with his bound hands, and tried to remember, exactly, where he’d left the  _ Negotiator _ .

#

Obi-Wan almost laughed with relief when he opened the craft’s door in the hangar of the  _ Negotiator  _ and was met with a solid wall of familiar armor. He stepped out and his legs gave, but that was alright, because there were hands to catch him. “Hello,” he said, because he hadn’t been able to figure out how to make the comm system in the alien craft work, “I think I need, mm, the medbay.”

He took a step, or tried to, but his knees weren’t working properly at all. Someone grabbed him bodily, lifting him, and the world twisted so unpleasantly that all he could do was gulp at the air and try not to vomit.

They were in medbay by the time his head cleared enough for him to think. He blinked up at the ceiling, laying on a bed that hurt his skin, burning up from inside. Someone had undone the ties around his hands, he noticed. He listened to medics talking over his head and to the beeping of machinery, trying not to - to feel so much.

His skin itched, all over; he swore he could feel his temperature increasing, steadily. He felt worse than he had on the planet. He considered, the thought sleeting through his mind, there and gone, that, perhaps, it had something to do with the dearth of alphas on Vou Prime.

“It’s going to be fine, sir,” Bones said, leaning over him, existing in triplicate. “We’re working to find out what they put into you.”

Obi-Wan tried to absorb that information, tried to breathe steadily, but he felt as though he were pulling apart at the seams. He hurt. He  _ hurt _ , and even as a child, even during his first heat, it had not  _ hurt _ so badly, tearing at the insides of his skin and nerves. “We’re going to - Sir, we’re going to put you in an isolation room until we figure it out, alright?”

He grabbed at Bones’ wrist, squeezing, trying to think clearly around the lurch in his gut. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to spend three days feeling this way, burning up and turning to ash. He shook his head, rasping, “Where’s -- Cody? The Commander?”

Bones looked over his head at someone and then said, “He said he was on his way, and--”

“What the kriff is going on?”

Obi-Wan sat up, ignoring Bones’ faint protest, turning towards the door of the infirmary. Cody had come through the door at a run, making something in Obi-Wan’s chest ache, sharply, even through the pain and the fog of confusion.

“Wait here, sir,” Bones said, stepping away from the bed. Obi-Wan considered following him, struggling out of his heavy overtunic, but a droid stepped up then, grabbed his arm, pulled it straight, and slid a needle into his skin without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Beg your pardon,” Obi-Wan snapped, and then breathed out, “Oh,” as the nausea faded and the world stopped spinning around. He exhaled, curling forward and bracing his face against a hand, layers of fog and confusion falling away, one after another. He breathed in and breathed out, relief coursing through him, waiting for the fever and the aching in his bones to fall away as well.

They did not. If anything, the removal of the other discomforts brought them into starker relief. He was burning up inside all of his robes. They felt like rough stone against his skin. He ached inside, the sensation terribly familiar, but… But he felt as though he’d gone through almost an entire heat alone, too sensitive and unable to slow down his breath or his heart rate.

“Sir?” Bones asked, dragging Obi-Wan’s attention back from where it had wandered. He looked up, his mind absently noting that Bones was an alpha, that he could, perhaps, help out and-- and Obi-Wan’s gaze drifted past him, to Cody, standing a half-step back, his jaw clenched up and his helmet on another medical bed. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, relieved he could string a thought together again. “Much better, thank you. But I’m still…” He forced himself to look away from Cody’s gaze, towards Bones, and heard a low rumble for his efforts. He shivered, shutting his eyes and curling his fingers into the blankets. “Affected.”

Bones cleared his throat. His voice sounded thicker. “Yes, sir, we can all tell,” he said, “I -- I sent the other troopers away, just -- I thought it might make things better, but. I don’t know… entirely what they dosed you with. I can’t seem to - that is - we’re not sure if we can, ah. Stop it.”

Obi-Wan had a fairly good idea what would stop it. He swallowed, mouth dry and lips tingling. That was only one solution. One he couldn’t ask for help with, not from his men. There were isolation rooms in the med bay. He pulled, absently, at his under-tunic, getting it off one shoulder. He’d just--

“I’ll handle this,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open. “You’re relieved, Bones.” He watched the medic step backwards with a lingering, regretful look. Obi-Wan stayed exactly where he was as Cody moved forward, stopping at the side of the bed, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he could not help but lean into it, though that touch hurt, too. Everything hurt, but there was the promise of relief in Cody’s closeness.

He shifted, curving towards Cody, reaching up to slide a hand across his cheek, leaning close and managing to stop himself before he took a kiss, managing to ask, “Are you sure?”

No alpha had ever wanted him twice. Not once, not in his entire life. He didn’t want to force--

Cody made a rough sound, closing the distance between them, and  _ oh _ . But then, he would help, wouldn’t he? He was a good man. It must have been obvious that Obi-Wan was not well. All of the troopers excelled at - at doing their duty. Obi-Wan swallowed, hard, shivering as the kiss poured more heat under his skin, easing some measure of the pain in his bones. 

He fought not to read anything into the way Cody pulled him closer, the way he lifted Obi-Wan from the bed and carried him - easily - into one of the private rooms. Obi-Wan was far gone enough to have pulled aside his robes in the infirmary, to have pulled Cody close right there, the presence of droids and the risks of other troopers finding them be damned.

Something in his chest ached sweetly at the thought that Cody had not let that happen. Cody closed the door behind them and lowered him to the bed. “You want to handle it this way?” Cody asked, even as he reached for the clasps on his armor, setting it aside piece by piece.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, pulling his own itching shirt off and throwing it aside, shoving at his pants, thoughtlessly, wanting - needing - and feeling Cody’s emotions shift at the words. He sat there, naked all in a rush,  _ aching _ . But he was not so out of his mind as he’d been. He did not want to burn for three days, but he would. He rasped, realizing that Cody had stopped what he was doing to watch, “But only - if you don’t want to, we don’t--”

Cody gripped his thighs, pulling him to the edge of the mattress and stepping between his legs, bold and welcome. Obi-Wan groaned at the feel of Cody’s breath across his throat, sliding a hand up the back of Cody’s blacks, curling one leg around Cody’s hip.

“Believe me, I want to,” Cody murmured against his ear, the proof of it pressing against Obi-Wan’s skin, and Obi-Wan was far gone, further gone than he could ever recall being, this heat was not  _ natural _ . And so perhaps that explained why he groaned and wrapped an arm around Cody’s shoulders, climbing onto him, knowing Cody could take his weight, and that he’d be able to rub against Cody, cock dragging across his blacks, giving pain and pleasure almost in equal measure.

And Cody did tighten an arm around him, impossibly steady as he reached down with this other hand, shoving at the waistband of his blacks. Obi-Wan slid a hand across his cheek, tilted his face and took a kiss and then another, wanted all of them, wanted to kiss him until the rest of the world went away.

He nipped at Cody’s lower lip as Cody climbed onto the bed, bringing Obi-Wan along. He soothed the sting with a sweep of his tongue as Cody hooked an elbow under one of his knees, pulling his leg up, bending him neatly in half and--oh, and finally sinking into him, deep and perfect and all at once.

“I’ve got you,” Cody said, in reply to something Obi-Wan could not recall saying, speaking against his mouth. “I’m here,” he said, and Obi-Wan nodded, holding onto him, skin moving against skin, each thrust on the edge of too-much and not enough all at once, and he made a wild sound when Cody worked a hand between them, fingers curled around him, just the way Obi-Wan liked and--

And the orgasm helped with the pain under his skin, leaving him feeling boneless and hyper-sensitive at the same time, unable to muffle the sounds dragged from his throat with each thrust. Cody lost his rhythm the first time his name slipped from between Obi-Wan’s lips, and when he found it again it was deeper, rougher,  _ perfect _ .

Obi-Wan scrambled at his short hair, pulling him close enough to kiss as his knot swelled, binding them together. It eased more of the pain in Obi-Wan’s skin, taking it down to manageable levels, leaving him to drown in the pleasure of skin on skin, and of Cody groaning into his kiss.

The pain crept back in, slowly. But Cody was there, had him, as Obi-Wan slowly came back to himself, the last of the chemicals fading from his system through the long hours of the night, leaving him sore and achy in the morning, but fully in control of his own mind once more.

He woke snugged back against Cody, on the floor beside the bed. He vaguely remembered that there’d been no way for them to fit to sleep. There was a blanket over them, and Cody’s arm curled over his ribs. He stirred, discomfort making itself known in a hundred places; sleeping on a hard floor hadn’t used to leave him with so many aches.

Cody woke quickly at his movements, making a low, questioning sound. “It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, wondering how long they’d slept. 

“Mm,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan pushed to sitting, looking down at him. Cody had, apparently, put himself between the door and Obi-Wan, his blaster close by, as though even in the medbay he had concerns about safety. “Are you alright?” Cody asked, blinking his eyes open and scrubbing at his face as Obi-Wan stood.

“Much better, thank you,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat and looking around. He hoped to find some clothes. He spotted his pants across the room, but they looked filthy. He couldn’t remember the entirety of his escape, but it had, apparently, involved quite a bit of bloodshed and a blaster fight.

He held the pants up with a scowl; worrying about what he was possibly going to wear kept his mind off of other concerns, like the ache inside his chest. He’d never - not once, in all the years of his life - spent two heats with the same alpha.  _ Ever _ .

But it - he knew it meant nothing, really. Cody had been a logical choice to assist him, he knew that, if not the  _ most  _ logical choice. Bones had been right there and had the same anatomy. Cody could have ordered Bones to take care of things, instead of… of rushing down from the bridge.

Obi-Wan shivered, not from the cold, and swallowed, cracks in the ice spreading all around him, too many to track. He was reading too much into things. In the moment, Cody must have felt it a good idea, the best choice. That was all. He exhaled, doing his best to release the ache in his chest to the Force as Cody stood, tugging his blacks up his legs as he did.

He opened the door as Obi-Wan grabbed his own slacks, and called, “Don’t put those on. Slicer brought you a new set from your quarters. Here.” And Obi-Wan made himself meet Cody’s eyes as he handed over the neatly folded clothes, made himself smile steadily.

“Thank you,” he said, ignoring the feel of everything that had dried across his thighs and the scattered marks across his skin, not all of them left behind from his fight on the world below. “For everything.”

“Don’t  _ thank me _ ,” Cody said, standing there, too close, really, frowning all at once when he said, “I should have found you. If I’d just…” He started to reach out, and someone called a question from outside the door. He blew out a breath, shaking his head and saying, “I’ll handle them. Take as much time as you need.”

Obi-Wan took a second to breathe and then turned, setting to pulling his clothing on. He missed most of the conversation outside the door, only catching bits and snatches, Cody’s voice gone low and flat as he said, “--find out  _ anyone  _ said a  _ word  _ about this, I’ll--”

Obi-Wan felt mostly himself by the time he stepped from the room, Cody leaning against the wall outside, apparently waiting. “Well,” Obi-Wan said, wishing there’d been a fresher in the isolation room. He needed to visit his quarters as quickly as possible. “I have bad news about the negotiations.”

Cody snorted, mouth crooking, and said, “You don’t say.”

#

Obi-Wan still bore marks from the entire ordeal by the time they were sent back to Geonosis. Returning to the miserable world left him with a heavy feeling that he did his best to release out into the Force. So much had gone wrong there.

Sometimes, when meditation would not calm his mind, he imagined the things they might have done differently. He imagined allowing Anakin to jump after Senator Amidala, out onto the sand, and facing Dooku on his own, sparing Anakin the loss of his hand.

He imagined not visiting the planet in the first place, not drawing so many Jedi down into the arena…. He blew out a sigh, shaking his head. The risk of considering what-ifs was that it grew increasingly difficult to stop. There was no changing what had happened, only doing everything possible to do right in the present moment.

Their landing on the planet made that near impossible, leaving him with things broken under his skin. Each time he moved was an agony, and he considered that, perhaps, he would end up dying on Geonosis, anyway, as perhaps he’d been meant to over a year ago.

He lived, instead, courtesy of a last second rescue. He lived, and Anakin pulled one of Obi-Wan’s arms across his shoulders, supporting him on the way to a med tent. He lived, and so went on to fight another day, though, at the least, he got to sleep for a few hours first.

When he woke, it was to uncomfortable heat in the air and countless aches. He groaned, considering his injuries - healing - with his eyes closed. Nothing felt deadly, anymore. The medics had managed to stop the internal bleeding, anyway. Could hardly ask for more than that, he supposed, cracking his eyes open, hoping for some water.

“Hey,” Cody said, from close by, and Obi-Wan blinked over in the direction of his voice. He was sitting - standing, currently - on a chair pulled beside Obi-Wan’s cot, armor filthy with dust and scratches, bucket left on the ground. He leaned over the little cot, fresh stitches across his jaw, and asked, “How are you?”

Obi-Wan considered the question and the fact that Cody had been… sitting at his bedside. But, then, he’d obviously received treatment from the healers on his own. Maybe they hadn’t finished with him. “Fine,” Obi-Wan said, automatically. “A bit thirsty.”

Cody nodded, pulling a canteen off of his belt and handing it over. Obi-Wan pushed up on one arm, burying a wince, and accepted the water. It was warm and tasted a bit of iron, but it was wet and he swallowed it hungrily, offering it back after a moment.

“Keep it,” Cody said, shaking his head, and Obi-Wan noticed, still a bit muzzy, that Cody’s hand was on his leg, just… resting on his thigh, brushing his thumb slowly back and forth. Obi-Wan tried to think of a way to ask what he was doing, gave up, and took another drink, murmuring his thanks.

He cleared his throat, glancing past Cody’s shoulder to the rest of the make-shift infirmary. It was full of beds and injured troopers. “How are we doing out there?” he asked, and Cody’s brief grimace told him enough about the state of the battle. He sighed. “Alright. Well, I suppose I’ve slept long enough.”

He shifted, making to get off of the bed, and Cody put a hand on his shoulder as he stood, the support an unnecessary but… thoughtful gesture, one that only increased the ache inside Obi-Wan’s chest. “I suppose,” he said, looking for his boots, trying to ignore the warmth in his gut from the gentle touch. He knew better than to take it as anything other than an act of kindness, and yet could not stop the feelings growing in his chest. 

He did not want to fall in love again. Not with someone who would never love him back.

Obi-Wan had the awful feeling, looking across at Cody, that it was too late.

He shuddered, cleared his throat, and said, “You’d better tell me what’s going on.”

#

Leaving Geonosis was always a relief. They rose from the surface in a transport full of dust and hot desert air, so many of the fallen left behind, bringing with them sour victories and new fodder for nightmares.

Obi-Wan sat for the ride, half-expecting to be shot down once more and too weary to worry about it. There’d never been enough time to fully recover from his injuries during the initial assault. He hoped that he might have time to fall into a healing trance once they were back on the  _ Negotiator _ .

He shifted over to make room when Cody finished a walk-through of the transport, settling beside him. They were a tight fit; it seemed they’d lost more ships than men, and no one wanted to stay on Geonosis longer than necessary; they’d crammed together.

Obi-Wan exhaled, leaning his head back against the wall and murmuring, “Well, now you can say you’ve fought on Geonosis.”

“Have to say it was overrated, sir,” Cody answered, and Obi-Wan snorted a laugh, shutting his eyes, just for a moment.

“At least no one tied me to anything,” he added, and heard Cody say something in reply, but his thoughts were already slipping away, plunging him into welcoming darkness. He woke with a start not long enough later, blinking across at the troopers on the other side of the transport, who seemed to be at an odd angle.

It took him a moment to realize that they were fine; it was only that his head had fallen sideways. He’d slumped, a bit, against Cody’s side, head leaning on one pauldron. “My apologies,” he murmured, straightening, though he could not have been out long. The trip up from the surface wouldn’t have taken much time.

“It’s no problem,” Cody said, as the transport settled into the landing bay. Obi-Wan rose to his feet, steady, and offered a hand down to Cody. It was, he figured, the least he could do after using Cody as a pillow. Cody added, quieter, with a small quirk of a smile, as the troopers in front of them moved out, “I’m getting used to it.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, sure he couldn’t be-- but the only other times Obi-Wan had fallen asleep on him had definitely been during his heats. “Ah,” Obi-Wan said, heart lurching oddly in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Cody shook his head, releasing Obi-Wan’s hand. “Don’t be,” he said, and Obi-Wan thought about interrogating that answer further, but he could feel Anakin’s concern from outside of the transport, vibrating through the air of the ship. Who knew what had gone wrong to put him in such a temper. And so Obi-Wan let the subject drop, slipping forward.

Besides, he didn’t really  _ want  _ to think about it, to plunge into the inevitable hurt.

Anakin spotted him almost immediately, stalking forward with his emotions spilling everywhere, worry and anxiety. “What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asked, reaching out to him, glancing past him to Ahsoka, who looked equally as concerned.

“Everything is alright,” Anakin said, first, blurting the words out. “Dal-Voe is fine.”

Obi-Wan jerked to a stop, thoughts going to white noise all at once. “Why wouldn’t she be?” he asked, grateful, absently, for the steadying hand on his back. Cody had, apparently, followed him over. 

Anakin looked over at Ahsoka and waved her closer. “There was a major accident near the Temple. Multiple lanes of traffic were involved. Some of the craft ended up crashing near - near the crèche. But she’s fine. I already saw her on a holo. She was - she happened to be in the right place. She’s alright.”

Obi-Wan’s heart lurched, his breath catching for a moment. “Force,” he said, blinking and trying to focus, to think. It was, abruptly, difficult. The world felt like it was twisting oddly around him, bringing with it ancient memories, recollections of tremendous pain and the curl of the Force  _ into  _ him, digging and awful. He pushed at the memories, even as he felt his breath getting faster, jagged. He asked, automatically, “And everyone else?”

Anakin grimaced, looking to the side again, his emotions cool and sharp in the Force. Obi-Wan tried to focus on him, tried to get out of his own mind, and could not manage it. Anakin was too unstable, too full of twisting highs and lows for Obi-Wan to find balance there. Anakin swallowed and shook his head. “We lost - lost a crèche master, but they kept the younglings safe.”

Obi-Wan nodded, exhaling, struggling to pull himself back to the present. He felt an urge to contact the Temple as well, to hear more about what had happened and to see Dal-Voe. He’d never heard of such an accident happening before. There had been assaults on the Temple, but…

He shuddered, and Cody asked, “Do they know who caused it?” His voice had gone battlefield sharp, abrupt.

Anakin frowned with another sharp shake of his head. “No, the Chancellor told me it looked like an accident.” And Obi-Wan wondered, briefly, why exactly the Chancellor had been involved in an accident at the Temple, one that involved his daughter…. His daughter, his living child, his--

Obi-Wan forced his writhing thoughts into order. He had years of practice. The mind healers had taught him how to do that much, at least. He reached out, squeezing Anakin’s upper arm, handling the things that needed to be handled, to keep himself from spiraling further. He kept his voice steady through force of will as he said, “She’s alright, as are the other younglings. And we owe the crèche master who saved them much for that.”

Anakin nodded, some of the tension going out of his shoulders. “I know, I just - I wanted you to know right away.” He breathed out, reaching out and pulling Ahsoka closer with an arm around her shoulders. Obi-Wan wondered if he even realized the way he curled around her with the Force. 

Obi-Wan knew enough about the displacement of emotions to recognize it when it happened in front of him. He’d picked up quite a lot from the mind healers, over the years. “We’re supposed to be back on the  _ Resolute _ . I just…” Anakin trailed off.

“I understand,” Obi-Wan said, squeezing Anakin’s arm one last time, and for a while they spoke of the battle, of their next orders, though Obi-Wan barely heard his own words. He felt like he was staring at himself from outside his skin. He watched them climb into their own transport, when the time came, Anakin keeping a hand on Ahsoka as though worried she’d disappear if he didn’t.

He shook his head, exhaled, and went to see to the rest of his duties, doing his best not to fall into the past, noting, in passing, that Cody was watching him, a frown on his face.

#

The heaviness followed him through the day, through getting new orders, through a debrief, all the way back to his quarters. He sighed, inside the doors, reaching up a hand to rub at his temple before making his way over to the small little kitchenette. He took down a teapot he had not taken the time to use for some time and filled it, placing it over the burner and watching the water slowly come to a boil.

His hands started shaking, at some point during the process.

Someone chimed at his door before the water reached a full boil and he sighed, leaving it, stretching out his senses. “Commander,” he said, when he opened the door, finding Cody on the other side, his expression tense and concerned. Obi-Wan pulled his hands up into his sleeves. “Is everything alright?”

Cody frowned with one shake of his head. “Everything’s fine with the ship. I just… you seemed. Quiet. Are you well?”

And Obi-Wan thought of turning him away, but… But Cody had helped him, twice now, when he had not needed to, and, even more than that, he was a good listener. Kind and steady. Solid. Obi-Wan took a step back from the door. He said, “Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve boiled enough for two.” It was an old habit, that. 

He’d needed enough for himself and Master Jinn for so long, and then enough for him and Anakin. His hands only knew how to brew enough for a pair, though he… was no longer part of one. Cody made an affirmative noise, and Obi-Wan waved him in, over towards the sole chair in the room as he returned to the pot.

He had two cups, too, old and well used, and set them out carefully, steeping the tea, letting the steam wreath up around his hands, which had steadied again. It was not quite meditation, but it was close, soothing to his thoughts and his soul. He lifted both cups carefully, warmth sinking into his fingers as he offered one out to Cody, still standing; apparently, he’d been watched through the entire process.

Cody lifted the cup carefully to his mouth, blew across it, and tried a sip. His eyebrows rose when he swallowed and he said, “It’s good. Sweet.”

“I’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth,” Obi-Wan said, sipping his own, the familiar flavor a comfort, one of so few that he had. They drank in silence for a moment, before he sighed and said, softly, because the thoughts would not leave him, “I lost a pregnancy. A daughter. Long ago.” Cody’s gaze snapped to reach his, and Obi-Wan made himself hold it, steady, continuing, “I suppose today made me think of it.”

He had not spoken of it for a long time, and only then with mind healers. All the words he’d never said felt clogged in his chest, suddenly. He cleared his throat and looked to the side.

“What happened?” Cody asked, after a long moment of silence.

Obi-Wan waved his free hand, watching the steam rise off of his tea. “It was - there was a Sith,” he said, soft. “He hated my old Master and…. I suppose I made an easy way to get revenge.” His throat ached, his chest grown tight. “He tore me apart. Inside.” 

Cody’s sharp intake of breath made him stop, turn his gaze away from the steam and the tea and the past. Cody’s expression was very still, his fingers tight around the cup, shoulders gone stiff and straight when he asked, “Where is he? This Sith?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Dead. A long time ago.” He had not kept Xanatos’ lightsaber, dismantling it and freeing the kyber crystal. It had been one of the suggestions of the mind healers. He thought it had helped, in its own way. He’d worked through the agony, as best he could, barely thought about it these last years, but… 

He swallowed. “She would have been almost eighteen now. Probably taller than me.” His voice cracked, alarmingly, and he said, turning to one side, “Oh, I’m sorry.” He raised a hand hurriedly to his face.

It was difficult to think of Dal-Voe, back at the Temple, growing and thriving, without thinking of the child he’d lost. Difficult not to wonder what Master Jinn’s child would have been like at one-year old. He’d spoken to Dal-Voe over a holocall around her birthday, but--

He swore, turning his shoulders aside.

And Cody had already put down his tea, coming around the table; it was not far to go. He curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cup, tugging it away, and Obi-Wan blinked over at him. “You don’t need to be sorry,” Cody said, hoarse, a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm and then his back, and Obi-Wan found himself leaning against his Commander for the second time in one day, armor cool and hard.

And Obi-Wan meant to tell him, then, as Cody rested their foreheads together, only briefly, about the scent-marking. He meant to explain how grateful he was for Cody’s assistance, and that he did not - would not - expect that it would continue, despite his feelings, but he was tired, so incredibly tired.

It was nice, just for a click, to exhale, to close his eyes and have someone else there and close, to be held by someone he  _ loved _ , even if they did not love him back.

He wished, silently, for forgiveness, and slumped into the embrace.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're well into the Clone Wars, now. Warnings for canon-typical violence and lots of grief. Discussions of non-con in this chapter and blink-and-its-gone non-consensual touching.

Obi-Wan tucked away his old griefs, over the days that followed. There was no time to dwell on them, in any case. He could not linger over injuries taken almost two decades ago. There were so many more current wounds to tend.

He commed the Temple and saw Dal-Voe, who did, indeed, appear healthy and hale. He kept the image of her in his thoughts throughout the next battle and the one that followed. She was a spot of warmth and brightness in the increasing cold of the Force.

Scraps and shreds of comfort grew increasingly hard to find. He could not expect Cody to just turn up at his quarters to hold him, when the shadows across his mind grew darker. It was not something he could ask for; he had to remind himself of that fact multiple times.

His heart seemed not to understand. It ached with wants when he looked at Cody across the bridge or a battlefield. He restrained himself to reasonable shows of affection, to helping Cody to his feet after a fight, to steadying him when a transport shook, to nothing more than the concern that was allowed.

And if, sometimes, he dreamed that he was not alone in his bed, dreamed that there was a familiar form, curled close to his, warm and comforting, well.... 

No one needed to know of that. He did his best to discard the dreams, the images that he saw behind his eyes at night, just as he tried to accept and release the love that he knew would only turn to broken shards.

He managed, as the war waged on, to do neither.

#

Obi-Wan had assumed, when Anakin was first Knighted, that they would see little of one another. He was wrong. As the war stretched deep into a second year, their battalions worked together more often than not. He heard some of his troopers joking that they should just refer to the 501st as the 212th-B and decided not to share that bit of information with Anakin.

There was comfort to be found in familiarity; Anakin, Ahsoka, and his troopers became the only faces he saw with any regularity over the months of battle. It felt natural to make a place for Ahsoka among them, natural to help with her training.

Obi-Wan, obviously, had years of practice training an apprentice. And Anakin barely had time to learn while trying to win a war. So, it was only sensible for Obi-Wan to take on some of those responsibilities, only logical to train with them as Anakin focused on her lightsaber instruction.

Meditation fell almost entirely to Obi-Wan to handle, which he did not mind. Ahsoka took to it better than Anakin ever had, in any case, paying attention and working to center herself. But, then, she’d grown up at the Temple. She already knew the foundational techniques that Obi-Wan had taught Anakin. She knew how to look inward and acknowledge her feelings without the fear of naming them.

So, the entirety of the war was not stress and madness. There were moments, however brief, that allowed for all of them to catch their breath. Obi-Wan felt the need to meditate, often, especially after battles, when the agony and pain of hundreds or thousands of sentients beat at him, sometimes for days or weeks on end.

He tended to turn such sessions into teaching opportunities; it was not a fight, in most cases. Ahsoka even sought him out, more and more often as the war progressed. Sorting their emotions, accepting and processing them all, took time. Especially when so many of the feelings were from outside sources. The shadows of another’s hurt always lingered in the mind, casting darkness over other thoughts and considerations.

Surprise moved through him the first time Cody joined them in the meditation room - shortly after Obi-Wan’s artificial heat - and asked if the Guardians of the Whills mediated as the Jedi did. Obi-Wan nodded, smiling up at him and gesturing him towards one of the other mats rolled up along the wall. “It’s very similar, I believe,” he said, “mindfulness is useful for everyone.” He added, when Cody shifted, “Would you like to join us?”

Cody hesitated by the mats, glancing back at Obi-Wan. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I’ll guide you through it,” Obi-Wan said, setting aside the discomfort in the back of his own mind at having his meditation interrupted half-way through. He could finish later, after all. 

Cody stayed where he was another click, and then Ahsoka cracked an eye open and said, “He’s a very good instructor, Commander. Come and join us.”

And that seemed to decide whatever had made Cody hesitate. He grabbed and unrolled a mat, across from Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as Ahsoka settled back into her thoughts, and said, “The armor might make it harder to properly relax.”

Cody glanced at him, down at himself, and then flushed a bit across his cheeks. But he said, “I suppose it might.” Obi-Wan looked to the side as he unclasped the armor, setting the pieces to the side carefully, left wearing only his blacks. They covered him from neck to foot. Realistically, they were quite unprovocative.

Obi-Wan felt warm under his thin robe, anyway, remembering how they felt against his skin, and cleared his throat, setting aside that surge of desire. That was not… in the scope of their relationship with one another. And it would only make things awkward when his next heat arrived and Cody, inevitably, found somewhere else to be. Obi-Wan unfolded his legs, setting his wants to the side, and stood, saying, “I’ll show you how we sit. You may feel free to change position if it feels uncomfortable to you.” 

Cody voiced no complaints as Obi-Wan instructed him to fold his legs, to place his hands just so. Obi-Wan did not have to prompt him to keep his back and shoulders straight. His posture was, as ever, perfect, a strong line of muscle that Obi-Wan noted with a swallow, chiding himself even as he resumed his position.

A stick of incense burned between them, filing the air with the pleasant scent of the Temple, though they were so far from Coruscant. “Now,” Obi-Wan said, settling, “focus on your breathing and quieting your thoughts.”

He kept up the instruction, soft, without having to think much about it. He’d had so much practice trying to teach Anakin to meditate.

Cody’s breathing went slow and even across from him. Obi-Wan nudged him through the Force and found his emotions gone smooth as well. One corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth quirked up and he sank deeper into himself. He guessed that Cody would enjoy the quiet for a few moments, before rising to go about his business.

Cody was still sitting across from him when emergency alarms started going off around the ship. Obi-Wan jerked from his mediation, shaking his head to clear it as he rolled to his feet, snuffing out the incense with a thought. 

It was not until much later, in the aftermath of the battle, that he managed to find a chance to breathe again. It was not until a day after that when Cody found him to say, “Thank you. For showing me how to meditate. It’s… soothing.”

Obi-Wan flashed him a smile, one that pulled at the cut across his cheek. It was a small comfort he could offer. “Feel free to join me anytime. I’m glad for your company,” Obi-Wan said, and immediately wished he’d phrased it differently, but the words were already out, by then, likely revealing too much. He cleared his throat, avoiding Cody’s gaze, and said, “I suppose I should go make a report to the Council.”

He did not expect, really, for Cody to join him again during meditation. So many found the process to be a boring waste of time. Anakin always had. But Cody appeared again, quite often, his presence soothing and steady in the Force, a fixed point in the miasma swallowing up the rest of the galaxy for Obi-Wan to fix his thoughts on, even if it only increased the ache in his chest.

It was terrifyingly easy, loving him.

Still, Obi-Wan felt glad that Cody had found something to help him handle the construct stress of their lives, the never-ending parade of trauma that seemed to follow them across the stars. He read no more into it than that.

He’d learned, long ago, not to expect more from people than they were prepared to give him.

Besides, shortly afterwards Cody broached the topic of some of the other troopers joining them for instruction, as well. Before too long, Obi-Wan had quite a class, handing over some of the instruction to Ahsoka.

Instructing others was a powerful teacher, after all.

#

His men grew accustomed to having Ahsoka around, and not just due to her help with their meditation. Obi-Wan snorted a laugh when he found Ahsoka and Cody bent over a table in the armory, a blaster disassembled in front of them. She was turning a piece over in her hand, asking, “I’m not sure why I need to know how to put this back together.”

Cody leaned back in his chair, shrugging as he said, “What if you’ve got a jam? Or you need to swap out components? You should be able to do this with your eyes shut.” He added, when she dutifully shut her eyes, “ _ Without  _ the Force. You might not always be able to use it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to use the Force?” she asked, sliding her fingers across the pieces and selecting two, fitting them together with a little click. It was, evidently, not the first time they’d worked on this process. Obi-Wan leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a blossom of aching, damning warmth in his chest.

“I’ve heard stories,” Cody said, mouth getting tighter. He went, a moment later, “Ah,” and Ahsoka sighed, putting down the piece she’d lifted and selecting another. She had the entire thing put together quickly, setting it down when she finished and opening her eyes with a smile.

“Nicely done,” Obi-Wan said, from the doorway; watching in silence any longer would have been rude. They both looked over at him, Ahsoka with an abashed smile. “Anakin’s been looking for you,” he added, “something about a message from Barriss waiting for your attention.”

Ahsoka sprang to her feet at once, calling a reply over her shoulder as Cody reminded her of some kind of target practice she’d agreed to later. She felt abuzz with excitement as she sped past Obi-Wan, her emotions spilling free of her control.

He knew she and Barriss had grown close quickly, making fast friends after their experience on Geonosis. It was good for Ahsoka to have a friend closer to her age, and another omega, at that. It also… warmed him, to think that his - Anakin’s - Padawan would get along so well with Luminara’s apprentice. It reminded him of his youth at the Temple; he had not had enough time to spend with Luminara in many years, but the memories of their childhood friendship were always soothing.

He set all those thoughts aside as Ahsoka disappeared around a corner, looking back at Cody, who had begun straightening up the table. He asked, “Providing her with some training?”

Cody glanced over at him, smiling. “Seemed like something she should know how to do,” he said. “Just in case.”

“It does seem useful,” Obi-Wan said, stepping into the room and pulling out a chair. “How long did it take to teach her?”

Cody stopped in the middle of sliding a power cartridge into the blaster, one eyebrow rising. “You don’t know how to put a blaster back together?” he asked, incredulous.

“I could with the Force,” Obi-Wan said, leaning one elbow on the table. “But, without it…” He shrugged.

“Well, we can take care of that,” Cody said, putting the blaster back onto the table and taking his seat once more. He disassembled it with fast, sure movements, laying the pieces out in front of them both. “I’ll walk you through it,” he said. “After all, maybe I’ll be the one to drop my weapon next time.”

Obi-Wan snorted and watched his hands, the sureness of his fingers as he put the weapon back together, intending to focus.

His attention snagged, here and there, on memories. Cody had strong hands, he knew quite well. Cody was sure about more than weaponry, and Obi-Wan paid less attention to the instruction than he should have, flushing a bit when Cody took the weapon apart again and said, “Alright, your turn.”

Obi-Wan had spent most of his life around weapons. He knew, mostly, how they went together and dutifully set to reassembling the blaster before him, going still when Cody made a soft, chiding sound and reached out, taking his hand.

Cody’s skin was very warm. There were calluses on his fingers. Obi-Wan knew exactly what they felt like on every inch of his skin, what Cody’s fingers felt like curled around his cock. His breath caught for a moment as Cody said, “No, like this.” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, staring down at their hands and the components he was holding, trying to make himself focus. “Of course. How silly of me.” He slid the pieces together with a little click, and Cody’s thumb stroked across his knuckles.

It didn’t mean anything, Obi-Wan knew despite the treacherous aching of his heart. Cody was just a thorough teacher, perhaps happy to share something he was good at with the Jedi in his life. That was all. Obi-Wan was not going to make any assumptions, not going to write a future that was never going to happen into his thoughts. He’d learned, over and over again, not to do such things.

His heat was getting closer. And he knew, perfectly well, that he’d need to find someone else to spend it with, to sleep curled close to, if only for one night.

#

Obi-Wan spent so much time with his men - with Cody - that it grew to feel strange when he went on missions alone, or with Anakin and Ahsoka. They were frequently sent out on their own to handle problems that did not require the full force of the GAR, and sometimes he would turn, expecting to find familiar faces by his shoulder, only to realize that he was alone.

He exhaled out the discomfort that came with that realization. They all had their roles to play; he was not exempt. He did the work in front of him, did his best to stay alive and to keep Anakin and Ahsoka safe, the larger war twisting and spinning around them. 

It always felt strange, to run into people disconnected - even if only by a few steps - from the galactic conflict. He ended up working briefly with a group from the Senate, close to the end of the second year of the war, most of whom he knew at least in passing. Senators Organa and Chuchi were more than a little familiar to him.

Senator Amidala was part of the group, as well. He had considered her something like a friend, once, after all that they had gone through together.

That had, evidently, changed at some point.

She was polite enough, throughout their brief diplomatic mission along the borders of Wild Space. Regal in all her finery, carrying the fading hints of an alpha’s scent on her skin. Anakin’s, Obi-Wan knew. She kept her voice calm and even during all of their discussions, but…

There was a chilliness to each word she spoke. A distance when she replied to Obi-Wan’s questions. Her gaze had a tendency to slide to one side, instead of meeting his. Her emotions felt tightly fettered, held close and masked.

Obi-Wan could not determine what he’d done to upset her. She obviously did not want to discuss it, so he let the matter rest. And, for her part, she avoided engaging in personal conversations with him, until the two of them ended up outside the ship after they discovered a hull infestation of kriliobles.

Obi-Wan had offered to take care of the problem on his own, but the Senators had insisted on drawing lots. Senator Amidala’s expression had twisted, just for a moment, when she got the short stick. Even then, perhaps things between them would have passed in silence, had not their ship come under attack unexpectedly, and been forced to leave them.

Alone, with only the emptiness of space around them, conversation seemed unavoidable. 

Obi-Wan watched the stars, brilliant points of light, all immensely far away, and said, forcing cheer into his tone, “So, Senator, how have you been keeping since last we spoke? It’s been some time, I think.”

He heard her sigh. He’d managed to pull her over, before she could drift off in the blackness of the abyss. He could not offer her much, not in their current situation, but he could, at least, ensure she did not die alone. “I’ve been well enough,” she said, after a moment. “And you, Master Kenobi?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, closing his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and even to conserve oxygen. Perhaps the ship would return for them. Perhaps someone else would stumble upon them. He fought to maintain hope. “Staying busy.” He paused for a moment, and added, “I’m sure Anakin would want me to send his regards, if he’d known we were going to run into one another.”

He felt the lurch of her emotions, there and gone, quickly controlled. “That’s… thank you,” she said, finally. “Is he…” She cleared her throat. “Is he alright?”

Obi-Wan considered that question, considered the shadows he sometimes felt in Anakin’s mind, the darkness under his eyes, the ache inside of him… He swallowed. “As well as any of us are,” he said, quietly.

“That’s what I was afraid you were going to say,” she said, voice wavering. “Damn this war, anyway.”

And he did not ask her what she knew of it, though sharp words rose momentarily to his tongue. He only said, into the dark, “Quite.”

They floated beside one another in silence for a long time. He resisted the urge to glance at his remaining oxygen. He knew he had plenty. He was more worried about Senator Amidala, who had not managed to keep her breathing slow and even. He thought he might be able to share with her, connecting their suits, as she ran out, if he just--

“How is Dal-Voe?” Senator Amidala asked, finally, her voice tight and controlled. 

Obi-Wan blinked. He had not realized she knew about his daughter. He said, “She’s growing quickly.” He had not seen her recently, but the thread of connection between them thrummed at the back of his mind. 

Senator Amidala curled her arms closer to her chest in her suit. She said, “Good. That’s… Anakin talks about her. Often.”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose, wondering  _ why _ . The subject certainly wasn’t relaxing her. He could feel her agitation spiking, and frowned. “I think,” he said, taking her arm and checking her oxygen levels, “we should stay quiet, for a bit. Take deep, slow breaths, Senator.”

“I know how to breathe in a space suit,” she said back, frowning over at him. He raised an eyebrow, and she looked to the side, but went quiet. They floated there, oxygen running lower and lower. “Someone will come,” she said, when he accessed her oxygen port and connected their suits together, sharing the air he’d managed to conserve as hers fell to critical levels.

“Sh,” he said, working an arm around her. Her mind was beginning to feel… distant. “Just breathe. Slow and deep.”

His oxygen was in the red, as well, by the time a ship dropped out of hyperspace near them. He felt quite cold, and Senator Amidala did not respond when he shook her. Obi-Wan frowned over at the ragged looking ship - it was  _ not  _ the ship that had left them, nor a Republic vessel - and braced for whatever waited inside as a hatch opened on the side.

He pulled off his helmet once inside, removing Senator Amidala’s, as well, to allow her to breathe the oxygen-rich air. She was just beginning to come around when the inner hatch opened, and Obi-Wan swore under his breath.

“Kenobi!” Hondo exclaimed, from the other side, where he stood flanked by three other pirates. “My old friend! What are you doing out here?”

Obi-Wan eased a step in front of Senator Amidala and gripped his lightsaber, flashing a smile. “Just seeing the sights,” he said, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to contact the  _ Negotiator _ , would you?”

Hondo shrugged, grinned, and said, “I’m willing to do anything, for the right price. You know that.”

Obi-Wan had a headache. He felt half-frozen. And Senator Amidala was still struggling to sit up. He had a mission to get back to, a war to fight. He sighed and said, gritting his teeth and adjusting his grip on the lightsaber, “Oh, I”m sure we’ll come to an arrangement.”

#

It took them almost two days to meet up with Republic forces. It was the  _ Resolute _ that came for them, in the end. Obi-Wan did not stare when Anakin came down to the hangar bay to greet them, when he rushed forward to check on Senator Amidala, who seemed only to have eyes for him.

Obi-Wan left them to it, ignoring the way Anakin started to reach out towards him as he slipped away. 

Senator Amidala’s stilted thank you echoed in his ears, after he left, after he no longer had to move about with people who seemed to be living in a different world, a place where they had homes to return to every night. 

It was strange, jarring, almost, to be reminded that on Coruscant there  _ was  _ no war. No one living in the Core woke up at night to explosions and alarms. They did not reach for a weapon before their eyes opened.

They had not grown used to the pervasive feel of death, crawling into their heads through all the long hours of the day and the night. They had not become accustomed to holding dying men. Half of them - perhaps better than half - did not even consider the troopers to  _ be  _ men.

Obi-Wan shuddered, his thoughts riotous as he made arrangements to return to  _ his  _ ship. And if there was a certain relief to arriving back on the  _ Negotiator _ , well, that was understandable. The pang in his chest when Cody offered him a smile was… less acceptable.

He knew it was an issue he needed to address, especially before his next heat. Carrying around vague hopes related to Cody would only make an already difficult situation more challenging.

#

Time slid away. The next time Obi-Wan saw Dal-Voe she was walking. She wobbled over on her feet when Obi-Wan visited the crèche, her hair all in loose curls and her hazel eyes bright, childish delight spilling everywhere in the Force.

She grabbed at his robes when he knelt, babbling nonsense sounds and then laughing. One of the crèche masters - Yuilv - drifted over, stopping by Obi-Wan and watching them for a moment before she said, “Knight Skywalker was by again to see her.”

Obi-Wan glanced up, a smile still on his mouth. “Oh, was he?”

Yuilv nodded, hands tucked into her robes as she leaned against a nearby tree. She put out an aura of peace and calm; most of the crèche masters did. It helped, Obi-Wan supposed, when dealing with dozens of excited and Force-sensitive children. “Yes. It’s odd, you know. We see the holos from the war. I expected him to be… rough.” She wrinkled her nose a little.

Obi-Wan snorted half a laugh. He imagined that both he and Anakin must appear quite wild to gentle Yuilv, who had found her niche in the Temple early and flourished there. “He can tell the difference between younglings and droids,” he said, lifting Dal-Voe as she pushed the desire to grab his beard at him through her emotions.

“Of course.” Yuilv said, reaching out a hand to steady a youngling across the room who had nearly overbalanced. “Still. I thought… well. He played with the others, as well.” Obi-Wan imagined Anakin buried under a pile of younglings and grinned at the thought.

“I’m glad,” he said, before advising Dal-Voe, “Excuse me, that hurts.” She laughed at him, giving his beard another tug, and then blinking, her attention shifting, all at once. He noticed what she’d sensed a moment later, turning as Cody stepped through the door to the crèche.

Dal-Voe called out, reaching for him and laughing. Obi-Wan had not expected to see him. Many of his troopers had been making plans to visit some bar or the other, as far as he knew. Cody did not smell of alcohol as he approached, smiling.

Dal-Voe grabbed at him when he got close enough, tugging him closer with the Force as much as her tiny hands, so that he bumped into Obi-Wan. “Easy there,” Cody said, but she ignored him, trying to hold them both at once, rubbing her cheeks against theirs for a moment, before her attention shifted again, and she started wriggling to get down.

Obi-Wan sat her on her feet and she took off like a shot, after something he could not see. He smiled, watching her go, and said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He glanced up, standing once more. “I thought I heard some grand plans about a trip to the lower levels.”

Cody shrugged, turning his attention away from Dal-Voe. “Maybe later,” he said, tilting his head. “Thought a quieter meal might be nice.”

“Oh?” And Obi-Wan knew he should not pursue the matter any further. He knew, perfectly well, that spending more time with Cody only made the ache inside of him deeper. He could not seem to stop himself from saying, anyway, “I know some quiet places.”

“We should try one,” Cody said, easy and sure, without even a second’s hesitation. “After we’ve visited for a while.” He bumped his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s again, and stayed there, so they were just… leaning together, a bit, by the time Dal-Voe came back, bringing with her what appeared to be a pile of mud.

They were both filthy by the time they finally left the crèche, but that was alright. The little quiet place Obi-Wan brought them to didn’t offer sit-down meals, anyway. They ordered bowls of soup, incredibly hot and spicy, and stood, leaning against the wall of a shop that had long since closed down, sipping at the broth.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go catch up with the others?” Obi-Wan asked, warmth spreading through him, and a strange sort of contentment, watching the crowds pass by, their thoughts all turned to personal concerns, thrumming with small worries. Alive and not full of terror.

“I’m sure,” Cody said, his tone so warm that Obi-Wan looked over at him. He found Cody watching him already, gaze intent and focused, leaving a slow spread of want - inappropriate - through Obi-Wan’s gut.

He shivered, helpless to stop it, when Cody shifted, shoulder resting against the wall, leaning a little closer. Obi-Wan worked to resist the urge to look at his mouth, and very nearly succeeded. He heard Cody make a little sound, watched as Cody shifted a little closer, and--

And it was at that point when someone shoved by them, running while a yelling storekeeper shouted something about a theft. Obi-Wan blew out a breath, shook his head, and tried to be grateful for the interruption. It wouldn’t have done to embarrass himself, to - to go on wishing for things he couldn’t have.

They placated the storekeeper, just in time to receive a call from the  _ Negotiator _ .

They were back on the front within the week, memories of a quiet meal, a few stolen moments, tucked away into Obi-Wan’s dreams.

And the weeks sped onward.

#

His heat arrived right on time, as ever it had. They were planetside, on some Rim world with a name he could barely remember. He disliked ground battles; a pity the Separatists seemed to enjoy them so much. 

The good news was, he supposed, that they were bunked down with displaced locals as he felt his skin getting itchy. Their species seemed broadly compatible, though he had a few concerns about the fact that they, apparently, had additional… everything, not just arms and legs. He felt fairly certain he could make it work. Somehow.

He’d have to.

Obi-Wan looked over the crowds spread around their camp and exhaled. They were staying in the remains of what had once been - as he understood it - a ghost town, abandoned long ago and now reinhabited. There was fresh water nearby, a river. He’d visited it, downstream of the camp, where they’d been given leave to bathe.

Obi-Wan had never enjoyed the feel of blood drying on his skin. A thorough washing in the water had gotten rid of that feeling, and cooled his blood, for the moment, just… not enough to set the concerns of his flesh completely aside.

He’d been given one of the few stand-alone structures in town, and made his way there after his bath, shaking his head at the thought of taking someone with him.

It could wait another day, he supposed. After the fight that had lasted for most of the previous day, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to figure out how, exactly, he’d make things fit. He spoke briefly with troopers throughout camp on his way to his bedroll, sparing a moment for the de facto leader of the locals. He wondered, absently, where exactly Cody had gotten to. He’d thought perhaps they’d discuss their plans for the following day over a meal of whatever edible weeds had been scrounged up.

He got his answer when he opened the door to his little cabin. 

Cody was already inside, crouched by the stone fireplace that made up one side of the cabin. He’d filled it with logs and, as Obi-Wan watched, managed to coax them to catch fire. Obi-Wan stared at him. There wasn’t much else to see inside. Any furniture had long ago disappeared. But there was a pile of blankets, a few feet from the fire, against the far wall.

They hadn’t been there when Obi-Wan was first shown the cabin, a few hours ago. He cleared his throat from the doorway, and Cody looked over at him, a smile settling across his mouth as he said, “Shut the door, you’re letting the cold in.”

Obi-Wan shut the door, wondering if he were dreaming. He’d had strange dreams about Cody. Dreams very much like this. And it seemed the only explanation for why Cody would be in his cabin so close to his heat.

Cody had to be  _ aware _ of how close he was. Alphas always were. And yet…

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, managing to look away from the fire. There were a few ration packs stacked beside the rugs and a pair of canteens. A better meal than Obi-Wan had expected to manage for the evening. He said, taking it all in, “You started a fire?”

“I heard a fire made things nicer,” Cody said, like that was an explanation. He stood, brushing his hands off on his thighs. His chestplate and pauldrons sat to one side, Obi-Wan could not help but noticing, his gut flooding with warmth that he tried to set aside. It was not, he was sure, what it looked like.

“Things,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. “What things?”

Cody ducked his head just a little, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He said, without any evidence of hesitation, “Things like your heat. I know it’s not much, not as nice as the  _ Negotiator _ , but…” He looked around the little cabin and then met Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Obi-Wan’s mind seemed to have stalled out, frozen like an overloaded droid. He said, heat prickling down his spine at the thought of - of Cody finding blankets and starting a fire for him because he’d heard it would make things  _ nicer _ , and--

None of it made sense. Cody frowned, taking a step towards him and saying, “Unless you didn’t want to, tonight. I only thought--”

“No,” Obi-Wan cut in, because abruptly he  _ did  _ want to, and as quickly as possible. His heart ached. “That’s - this was very thoughtful of you to do.” He had thought for sure that Cody would simply disappear, the way everyone else ever had, but perhaps it made sense that he’d stayed.

Cody’s circumstances were not the same. He didn’t know many other omegas and had even less opportunity to spend time with them. While the war dragged on, Obi-Wan would be… well, there was no kind way to admit that he was  _ convenient _ . Obi-Wan had long ago stopped expecting the universe to be kind.

Obi-Wan’s throat tightened and he swallowed. Taking hurt from Cody’s reasons for offering him help would hardly serve either of them. Obi-Wan had learned practicality in such matters long ago, and… and the fire was nice, he found, listening to the wood crackle away, feeling it warm the chill out of his skin.

Cody took another step towards him, dark gaze intent. He asked, reaching out, fingertips brushing Obi-Wan’s hand, “You want to, then?” His touch left behind tingling warmth, shooting up Obi-Wan’s arm and across his chest. He sucked in a little breath, pulse beating faster at just a touch, his body releasing a rush of hormones at the warm closeness of a person he  _ wanted _ .

A person he loved, fool that he was.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, flexing out his fingers so they slid between Cody’s, shivering at the brush of contact. “Yes, I want--”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Apparently, Cody had gotten the idea. He closed the last of the distance between them, curling an arm around Obi-Wan and shifting to kiss him and -- oh. Obi-Wan noted, distantly, that he’d never actually kissed another person as often as he’d kissed Cody. Perhaps it was experience that let Cody make his knees go unexpectedly weak, that left him pressing closer and panting.

He was very glad he’d already shut the door, sliding a hand up Cody’s arm and groaning when Cody rocked against him, hard already. “Let me just,” Obi-Wan murmured against his mouth, shrugging out of his outer tunic. Cody made an appreciative sound, hands sliding up under the undertunic, palms warm and rough and  _ knowing _ .

“I’ve missed you,” Cody rasped, voice dropped so low that it made Obi-Wan shiver. And Obi-Wan almost pointed out that, in fact, they saw one another almost every day. But Cody was tugging him forward, walking backwards onto the blankets he’d gathered and saying, before Obi-Wan could formulate a reply, “I missed the taste of you,” a breath before he kissed a line down Obi-Wan’s throat.

Obi-Wan exhaled shakily, tilting his head to the side without thought, a noise caught in his throat as his pulse jumped. Cody murmured, against his skin, “And touching you.” He slid his hands down, tugging at the closures on Obi-Wan’s slacks, and Obi-Wan was more than happy to shove them down, kicking them to the side.

He did not expect, in the aftermath, for Cody to sink to his knees, and he rasped out, “What are--oh!” 

Cody’s mouth was hot and wet and shocking and perfect, all at once. Obi-Wan could count on one hand the number of times a lover had licked across his cock. The sensation was all lush pleasure, flooding out through him as he groaned and reached out, hesitating for a second before touching Cody’s hair.

Cody hummed, apparently in approval, bobbing his head, and Obi-Wan swore breathlessly. Heat swirled up into his gut, and he might have swayed, had not Cody gripped his hips and held him tight, licking and sucking, each wet sound he made building the heat under Obi-Wan’s skin. 

“Force,” Obi-Wan panted, “Force,  _ Cody _ .” He gripped at Cody’s hair, found it too short to grab, and pulled on an ear, instead, trying to recall his manners. Cody only hummed, grip tightening, and swallowed when Obi-Wan lost the battle with his pleasure.

Obi-Wan made a hoarse sound when Cody pulled away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes dark. Obi-Wan really had no choice but to drop to one knee and then the other, to wrap arms around Cody’s shoulders and kiss him, tasting himself on Cody’s generous mouth. “I can,” Obi-Wan said, struggling to concentrate, “for you, let me--”

“Another time,” Cody rasped and slid fingers into his hair, kissing him just so, and Obi-Wan might have happily kissed him for the rest of the night - he could not stop thinking about  _ another time _ , what did that even  _ mean  _ \- even with the heat burning up his veins, but they ended up sprawled across the blankets, somehow. Their kisses grew increasingly desperate as Cody shifted, braced on one arm, sliding into him and--

Obi-Wan felt boneless already, and that was before Cody hitched his hips up and set about fucking him with fierce determination in his expression. And he’d - Obi-Wan vaguely remembered mentioning how he liked it. 

Apparently, Cody remembered. In detail.

Obi-Wan’s back bowed, his breath grew short and he gave up all pretense of swallowing the sounds he made when Cody pulled another orgasm from him, his knot swelling as Obi-Wan shook through it, breathing in overheated air, his pulse racing as though he’d just fought a battle.

“Force,” he groaned, as Cody leaned over him, folding him up, taking a kiss. Obi-Wan slung both arms up around his neck, draping them across Cody’s shoulders, kissing him soft and messy and deep.

Cody made a thick, pleased sound, radiating pleased satisfaction even as he nuzzled back to murmur, against Obi-Wan’s ear, “I missed fucking you, just like this.”

Obi-Wan gasped, a shiver rolling down his spine, half from the tone, half from Cody’s words. He tightened his grip, helplessly. He wasn’t as young as he’d been, but his cock gave a hopeful twitch, anyway, just from the thought of Cody  _ missing  _ him, maybe thinking about them tangled together, even if--that made no sense, even if--

Cody made a contemplative sound, before Obi-Wan could follow that train of thought any further. He rumbled, “I missed the way this feels,” and Obi-Wan groaned, feeling increasingly off-balance with every word. “Being inside you. Having you around me.”

“Cody,” he managed to pant out, squirming as though he could go  _ anywhere _ , “that’s-- _ Force _ .”

“Mm,” Cody hummed, shifting to kiss him again, warm and close, panting all the other things he missed into the overheated air, until Obi-Wan could barely stand it, crying out raggedly when Cody’s knot went down enough for him to move once more.

He never got his balance back, not the second time, after which Cody pushed up on his arms, just… looking down at Obi-Wan and the mess made all across his skin, a pleased smile on his mouth, nor the third, when Cody gently pulled him around, snugged up behind him, and asked, “I thought - could we?” 

And Obi-Wan rasped, “Please,” with his knees on the blankets and his forehead resting on his folded arms, body so full of contented, thrumming pleasure that he knew it was radiating out. Well. At least everyone close to them in camp would have a pleasant night, he supposed.

Cody groaned and pressed close to him, into him, gentler that time, slow and deep. Purposeful. Steady as gravity, stroking Obi-Wan’s back and murmuring words that made Obi-Wan blush with startled delight, all while Obi-Wan gasped and clenched his fingers into the blankets, spilling, finally, untouched.

He cried out, ragged, when Cody kept going, chasing his own pleasure for a stretch that left Obi-Wan breathless, lighting up with each stroke, all over, and--

And he gasped when Cody sank forward over his back, blanketing him for a long moment before shifting with a groan, settling them onto their sides. Obi-Wan’s head ended up resting on his arm, Cody’s other arm slung across him.

Cody peppered kisses across his shoulder and up his neck, making little content sounds as he did, and Obi-Wan could do nothing but melt against him, absently pulling up one blanket and murmuring, dazedly, “You were right. The fire makes it nicer.”

He felt Cody’s smile against his skin, and the contained strength in his grip as Cody pulled him a little closer, holding him so carefully that it made Obi-Wan ache. They rested, there, for a while, before Obi-Wan grew too warm to stay still, before Cody shifted around to rest his shoulders against the wall, staring with wide eyes as Obi-Wan settled across his hips.

He did not know, there in that little cabin, that the night would be one of the last pleasant experiences any of them would have for so, so long. He only knew he slept deep and peacefully, for once.

#

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning tired, but at least it was a pleasant and well-earned sort of exhaustion. And, at least, almost everyone else in camp seemed to be in incredibly high spirits. He’d never seen so many people so happy about hiding out in the woods before. Some people were  _ whistling _ .

Anakin was the only person who seemed less than pleased, frowning over the breakfast campfire they shared. He looked tired, as well, with dark circles under his eyes. He brushed aside Obi-Wan’s concerned questions, and Obi-Wan let the subject drop.

They all had the right to a poor temper, he supposed.

Besides, he was distracted by the sideways glances Ahsoka kept shooting him. She didn’t broach whatever subject weighed on her during their meal. He waited. He’d learned that, with Ahsoka, she would ask her questions on her own time.

The time she selected happened to be after they’d moved out of camp, scouting ahead to ensure there were no Separatists in the surrounding area. Anakin had never thrived in scouting missions; there was something fundamentally attention-grabbing about him. He’d never gotten the hang of blending in, making himself not spring immediately to the foreground of any landscape.

So, Obi-Wan took Ahsoka, instead, and they slipped off through the woods. They’d traveled well away from the camp, finding nothing, by the time she cleared her throat and asked, “You’ve really never taken suppressants?”

Obi-Wan hid a grimace, considering that, really, he should have expected such a line of questioning, after the previous evening… He cleared his throat, striving for calm. This was just another area in which she needed instruction. “I did once, actually,” he flashed her a brief smile. “It didn’t go well.”

She nodded, still scanning their surroundings, her mouth pressed tight before she spoke, “The allergies. I know.” He wondered if Anakin had explained or if his situation had just become so well-known that it was discussed among Temple younglings. Perhaps he served as a scary story for young omegas and they swapped tales, fretting about developing an intolerance for their suppressants. The idea was almost amusing, in a way.

“But that means,” she continued, after a moment, glancing at him quickly, “that means that you’ve always. You know. Had someone. Like last night.” Her cheeks darkened to a deeper orange. A hint of pink even crept into her pale markings as her lekku twitched up on the ends. 

Her emotions were all wistfulness and confusion, tangled up. He snorted, shaking his head, thinking back briefly across the many heats of his life. “Mostly  _ not  _ like last night,” he said, drily. He’d always focused more on ending the heats quickly, than anything else. Pleasure had been a secondary consideration. “Believe me.”

She gazed out into the trees, growing still for a moment. He paused beside her, trusting her senses. The Togruta were predators born. A moment later he heard faint rustling in the bush, but it faded almost immediately, the Force signature no more than he would expect from a small animal of some sort.

As it passed, she sighed and said, “I just… I’ve always been on suppressants. And…” She shrugged with one shoulder, flashing him a wry little smile.

“Be glad,” he said, the advice slipping free automatically. He’d never given up the hope that someday the medics would find a way to work around the allergy. His heats had always been, at best, an inconvenience. At worst….

She nudged him through the Force, a gentle touch full of comfort. “I know, I know it must have been -- but you have Commander Cody, now.”

He managed not to jerk to a stop only due to an act of will. He said, quietly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

She shrugged again, hopping down a small cliff and waiting for him to join her. “I just.” She glanced around. “I mean. You have - it’s nice. What you have.” Obi-Wan tried to order his thoughts, trying to sort out her intent and meaning.

“The Commander and I don’t  _ have _ anything,” he said, finally, ignoring the sharp ache in his chest. He’d allowed himself to develop so many feelings, something he had not realized was so obvious to others. He’d have to address the issue. Perhaps after they were off this Force-forsaken planet.

Ahsoka turned to look at him, eyes widening in a way that felt meaningful. She said, “Last night--”

“You shouldn’t take what you sense during heats so seriously,” he interrupted, because talking about  _ last night _ with Ahsoka - who felt, often, like his Padawan - made him deeply uncomfortable. “Emotions run hot, but fade again. It’s only a biological process. And the Commander was thoughtful enough to help me. There’s nothing more than that.”

She stared at him for a moment longer and then said, slowly, “Sure. But the Commander…” She trailed off and shook her head, apparently deciding to let the subject drop. He exhaled, wishing that he’d managed to ensure it  _ was  _ nothing more than that.

But his thoughts still felt heavy by the time they made it back to camp, reporting no Separatist activity in the area. He found Anakin and Cody in the midst of some kind of argument off to one side as they made it back, the pair breaking apart as he approached, Anakin thrumming with hot agitation, Cody radiating a cooler frustration.

Cody’s irritation eased a bit, anyway, when Obi-Wan touched his arm. He blew out a breath and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s back, stroking up. Scent-marking. And Obi-Wan meant to say  _ something _ , but Anakin’s flash of irritation, hot and sharp, distracted him.

At least they put their tempers to good use later in the day, when the Separatists  _ did  _ come for them.

#

They made it off-world before the second anniversary of the battle of Geonosis - which had, apparently, been chosen as the official start of the war - but it was a near thing. Obi-Wan spent the day trying to clear his head, trying to find some measure of peace from the weight across him. 

He spent the anniversary off-world, deep in Hutt space, on a mission side-by-side with Quinlan. They’d not spoken much in… years. Not since they were young. And Quinlan carried new shadows around, sharp edges he hadn’t born when they were growing up.

Obi-Wan suspected the same could be said of him.

They spoke of little of importance, during most of the mission, chasing some Force-damned Hutt. He knew Quinlan watched him, sometimes. Often. But Obi-Wan had gotten quite skilled at navigating the strange behavior of alphas, at staying focused on the task at hand.

They shared a small shuttle, one with barely any room to sleep, but that was alright. One of them always needed to be awake. When he slept, Obi-Wan’s nightmares stalked him across the blackness of space, shapeless things following him, and Quinlan shook him awake, the best comfort that could be offered, sometimes.

Quinlan said, as Obi-Wan scrubbed at his face, “Your Commander’s name was Cody, wasn’t it?”

Obi-Wan felt blurry with sleep, with creeping memories of pain echoing around in his head. He asked, “What? Yes.” He shoved up off of the floor, all desire to sleep lost and charred to ash. He could take the controls for a while. “Why?”

Quinlan looked away from him, frowning, and said, “Nothing, nevermind.” And they did not speak of it again. They’d almost reached their destination, anyway. Somehow, it did not feel like much of a surprise when they turned out to be too late.

#

Two years of war had ravaged the galaxy. He’d imagined, when it all started, that the entire affair would be over in a few weeks, perhaps a few months at the outside. He’d never even considered that, two years later, they’d still be engaged in open warfare and that, more than that, hostilities would be increasing.

It grew increasingly difficult to hold onto hope as the third year of the war hit the galaxy like a fist. They took unbelievably heavy losses over Sullust, only a few days after the anniversary of that first battle on Geonosis. They lost so many men as the  _ Resolute  _ burned up in orbit.

And there was no time to recover, afterwards. Obi-Wan stopped thinking about winning the war, devoting all of his attention just to keeping as many men alive as he could, trying to achieve some terrible kind of balance, to prevent the galaxy from tipping over completely into death and madness.

He watched Anakin grow harder, sharper with each loss they took. They only rarely made it to Coruscant, and when they did Anakin returned still smelling of Senator Amidala and… Obi-Wan hoped that their relationship gave him some comfort, that he was not growing dangerously attached, but he could barely spare the attention for it.

He watched Ahsoka grow taller and quieter, watched her keep her back straight as the galaxy laid more and more weight across her shoulders. He wished, with each passing battle, that he could take some of it away, but--

But he already felt his own burdens threatening to overmatch his capacity to bear them. They lost troopers and they lost Jedi and the galaxy lost more and more light on a daily basis, those who remained struggling to hold up under the increased pressure.

He missed seeing Ahsoka smile. He missed teaching her to meditate. What little time they had left for training was devoted to lightsaber forms, to knowledge that might keep her alive on the battlefield, not that which might enrich her soul.

Still, she took to Jar’Kai quickly, as she took to so much quickly. She adapted the forms he taught her to make them more comfortable with her smaller stature and the slightly different joints in her arms and shoulders, and she hurried off to send messages to Barriss about it, after each training session.

Obi-Wan thought it was good for her to have another omega as such a close friend. He also thought, picking up the drift of her emotions after their conversations, that perhaps  _ close friend  _ was no longer the best way to describe their relationship. 

He was not surprised that they would grow closer, nor by the blossom of affection and want between them. They were both coming of age in the middle of a war. He knew, better than most, how that situation could… impact one’s emotional state.

He only hoped, listening to Ahsoka fret over a mission Barriss had undertaken with Luminara, that things ended for them better than things had ended on Mandalore, so very many years ago.

And he watched Cody, as well, wondering how the war would change him. It was strange, the way he stayed so steady and sure. Obi-Wan tried to distance himself, to stop the ache in his chest when he looked across at Cody on the bridge, or fought beside him on yet another world, or picked at tasteless rations while sitting across from him, but….

But Cody seemed to seek him out, bringing him a cup of tea or just sitting quietly beside him while Obi-Wan tried to process the loss of so many lives, the endlessly rising death tolls and the orders from the Senate that so often made no sense.

The least Obi-Wan could do was offer him some company. He considered that was, perhaps, just what Cody needed - wanted - from him, but did not know for sure until they took the capital of Umbara and only found out - so belatedly - what had gone on elsewhere on the planet.

Obi-Wan’s gut reaction was to bring all his troopers back to the  _ Negotiator  _ immediately, as soon as possible. He didn’t fight the urge. He took Dogma, too, for Anakin was not there yet and--

And Obi-Wan could feel the agony and confusion pouring off of his men, off of all the troopers. It beat at him as he moved through the halls of the  _ Negotiator _ , and he did not know how to ease their pain. He did not know, as he heard more and more about what Krell had done, how the troopers who had been left in Krell’s command could bear to look at him, how they could still follow him with aching hope bleeding out of their emotions.

Obi-Wan had always known it was the Jedi’s duty to protect the clones as much as possible. And Krell had - had betrayed them. Horrifically. In every imaginable way.

And so Obi-Wan braced, expecting the worst, when Cody visited his quarters on the  _ Negotiator _ . He’d only ever seen Cody angry on the battlefield before, and that was a passing type of fury, the rage that came with a fight, with trying to stay alive when the entire galaxy wanted you dead. He expected anger, opening his door and stepping back, tea forgotten on his table.

Instead, Cody set his helmet down on the table - not knocking into the tea - and said, “I know we need to maintain our professional relationship,” and, taking a step forward, “but, I thought, just for a moment,” and, while Obi-Wan tried to process what he meant, Cody reached him and curled an arm around him.

Obi-Wan’s chest ached when Cody leaned their foreheads together. Cody’s other hand came up, cupping the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair, just… holding him there, as though he were something that might break if squeezed too hard. Cody had his eyes shut, tightly, agony graven into his expression. Physical affection was not something Obi-Wan had ever engaged in overmuch, but he knew the value of it.

And, he thought, there was probably no one else on the ship Cody could go to for an embrace. All of his brothers were his subordinates, after all. And, perhaps their physical engagements made it more natural for him to seek out Obi-Wan, and--

Obi-Wan knew he was thinking too much, but he’d never been able to stop that. He exhaled, wrapping both arms around Cody’s back and working to project calm and peace, to soothe. He had no idea how long they stood like that, before Cody shifted, just a little. He opened his eyes, moving  _ closer  _ and turning his head so that his nose brushed Obi-Wan’s cheek.

Obi-Wan thought, for a single heartbeat, that Cody intended to kiss him. Certainly, Cody’s eyes were dark and considering. Certainly, he felt Cody’s breath across his skin. Certainly, Cody’s hand had flattened low on his back, warm and broad and--

Obi-Wan’s comm chimed as they stared at one another. It took Obi-Wan a long beat to move to answer it, Cody releasing him abruptly and stepping back. Obi-Wan barely heard the Council’s orders, his heart beating off-rhythm in his chest and for no good reason.

Cody could not have possibly intended to kiss him. That wasn’t-- Obi-Wan had just slipped, allowing his thoughts to carry him down impossible trails. He shook the consideration away, made himself meet Cody’s gaze, and the war dragged them forward, out of his quarters, and towards the next battle, with no time to recover, to not to grieve, no time to  _ breathe _ .

#

Obi-Wan came closer to dying on Zygerria than he had in a long time. Everything went wrong on the mission from the time the Zygerrians realized he was a Jedi. The days he spent on world felt like they followed the logic of his nightmares, each hour bringing some new horror and deprivation.

He found the stolen Togruta colonists, but it was in a prison camp. He was allowed to stay with Rex, but only for a few hours, before he was dragged away. They took him to a medical bay, but it was not to treat his wounds.

The Zygerrian doctor who attended him, after they pulled his robes off, gagged and shackled him, was not interested in fixing the things broken under his skin. She was far, far more intrigued by the tests she ran and the results of his bloodwork.

“Definitely of child-bearing age,” she said, to the prison warden, when she’d finished her terrible assessments. “At least one pregancy.”

“Viable?” the warden asked, eyes narrow and considering, looking Obi-Wan up and down. His skin felt like it was crawling. He wanted to snap at them, to order them to stay back. The gag sat between his teeth, muffling every sound he tried to make.

“There’s no way for us to be sure,” the doctor said, shrugging, her gaze on her scanners as the warden came closer, close enough to drag a clawed fingertip across Obi-Wan’s collarbone, in towards the center of his chest.

Obi-Wan glared at him; it was all he could do, just glare while fighting the urge to go somewhere else, in his head. To just… not be there, not while the warden asked, “Are we compatible with the species?” something considering in his tone.

The doctor made a little sound, shaking her head. “It doesn’t appear so,” she said. “His genetic profile is all wrong.”

That did not stop, somehow, the slide of the clawed finger down his sternum, the pressure just enough to leave an angry red welt in its wake. Obi-Wan swallowed convulsively, focusing on his breathing, wishing he could reach the Force, wishing that this  _ was  _ a dream, that his troopers would break down the door in that instant, wishing, sudden and sharp, for the sound of blaster fire and Cody--

“It might be worth a try, anyway,” the warden said, voice like oil, fingers fanning out across Obi-Wan’s stomach. “Don’t you think,  _ General _ ? We could learn so much from one another. I suspect you’ve never experienced spines, before.”

“The clone they brought in with him might be a better option,” the doctor said, dragging Obi-Wan’s attention over as that fresh horror unfolded inside his head. He stared at her, bile burning in the back of her throat, as she continued, “We thought they might be infertile, but it seems the Kaminoans weren’t that thorough.”

“Mm,” the warden said, nodding. “We have time to figure it out. We can try all kinds of different things.” His hand slipped lower, and Obi-Wan found a spot on the far wall, staring at it, reaching for a quiet point inside his head, dragging his thoughts around to  _ there is no emotion, there is peace, there is no _ \-- 

A comm went off, somewhere, and the warden made a little disappointed sound. He said, breath against Obi-Wan’s ear, “We’ll continue this later. I promise.”

He stepped back, taking his hand away, and Obi-Wan fought to breathe steadily through his nose. He was, mostly, not shaking by the time they dragged him back to his cell and threw him in. He jerked back, unthinking, when Rex reached for him, asking, “General, what the kriff?”

Obi-Wan reached up, grabbing at the gag they’d left in his mouth, dragging it out. His jaw ached. He tasted blood and swallowed it. He grabbed for the pile of his clothes they’d thrown in with him, keeping his gaze turned to one side.

Rex stared at him, sitting there just as battered and bruised, asking, “What did they do to you?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, yanking his pants up, ignoring the pain in his hands - he was fairly sure some of his fingers were broken. “Sir,” Rex said, shifting forward, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to flinch back, but did snap his gaze up.

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan panted out, tone harsher than he’d intended. Rex’s eyes were wide in the dim light of their cell. His gaze flicked down, and Obi-Wan dragged his undertunic on, covering up the marks across his chest and stomach. Rex looked no less horrified when Obi-Wan managed to meet his eyes.

“They took me for questioning,” Obi-Wan said, though they had not asked him any questions, but-- But he did not want to discuss what they  _ had  _ done. He did not want to think about the scratches across his stomach, left as a parting reminder.

It was very much a relief when Ahsoka came for them.

Almost as much of a relief as watching Rex execute the warden. 

But that was not, Obi-Wan knew, a very Jedi emotion.

#

Obi-Wan left Zygerria battered and with things broken inside, holding onto his focus with gritted teeth. He felt like he did not exhale until he was back on the  _ Negotiator _ , making his way directly to the medical bay.

The medics did not question the scratches over his skin, and he was relieved. His bones mended slowly in a bacta tank. By the time they dragged him out the scratches were gone completely, as though they’d never been.

It was strange, the way Obi-Wan felt them, anyway, back in his quarters, standing under the fresher water and scrubbing his skin. His skin was reddened when he climbed out, stinging. He grimaced at the evidence of his lack of control, pulling on an undertunic even as someone started knocking at his door.

He knew it was Cody and, for a moment, considered not answering.

In the end, he fought that urge into submission, waving the door open and calling, as he grabbed his outer tunic, “Come in.” He made himself straighten his back, held onto calm steadiness as Cody stepped into his quarters, holding two cups of tea. He decided not to attempt a smile. “I trust you held things together here while I was… busy.”

Cody looked at him, up and down, and then said, “Yes, I did.” 

“Good.” Obi-Wan felt like he was dreaming, still, half-disconnected. He knew part of it was exhaustion. He’d been tired for so long. He took a cup automatically when Cody held it out, staring down into it for a moment before hazarding a sip. The familiar flavor dragged a surprised sound from his throat. He said, puzzled, “This is perfect.”

“I hoped it would be,” Cody said, which barely even made sense. Obi-Wan took another sip and froze when he continued, “Captain Rex contacted me. About… what happened.”

“Did he?” Obi-Wan asked, feeling distant. He wondered, briefly, why Rex had done such a thing and what he’d even  _ said _ . 

Cody made a soft, affirmative sound, and then set down his cup. He took a little step forward, so close to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but not touching, and asked, voice gone hoarse, “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, the words automatic, just there on his tongue. He took another swallow, enjoying the heat that seared down his throat. He tried to smile, shaking his head at himself. “I--they mostly made threats. Barely touched me.” He felt a flare of horror from Cody, and reached out and back, touching his hand.

Cody said, quietly, “Rex said you didn’t want him to touch you. After what they did.” There was a question in his tone. Obi-Wan could imagine the look on his face, but kept his gaze forward, fighting a shiver down his back.

Obi-Wan swallowed, memories of that horrible cell banging at his thoughts. He said, “I suppose I didn’t.”

Cody shifted his hand, slowly, threading their fingers together, thumb stroking across skin. “But this is -- alright?”

“You’re not Rex,” Obi-Wan said, wishing, immediately, that he had not. But the words were out there, between them. Cody sucked in a little breath. In truth, Obi-Wan could not fathom Cody hurting him, a strange thing to consider, since he knew, perfectly well, how badly it was going to hurt when Cody… moved on.

That was a future pain, though, an agony for another day. WIth Zygerria screaming in his head, Cody’s closeness was nothing but a comfort. He exhaled, shakily, when Cody moved closer to him, chest brushing his back.

Obi-Wan leaned back against him, knowing he ought not to and unable to stop. He closed his eyes when Cody slid an arm around him, and embracing this way, their temples leaning together, Cody’s hand across his stomach, where the scratches had been, felt so different. 

He covered Cody’s hand with his own, the gentle pressure and warmth, even through his robes, burning away some of the memories still stalking his thoughts. “Thank you,” he murmured, quietly, right before his comm started going off, tearing him away from that brief moment of peace.

#

Obi-Wan did not mention the nightmares that woke him, over and over again, after Zygerria. Everyone had nightmares. Sometimes, in the field, Cody’s woke him up. They often bunked down close to one another. 

Obi-Wan grew used to reaching out to him, brushing a touch across his brow to send the foul dreams away. Sometimes Cody stirred, waking just enough to murmur ragged thanks, to reach up and squeeze Obi-Wan’s hand, to shift a little closer, before he slept again.

Obi-Wan knew his would fade, eventually, though they had not by the time he received orders to fake his own death. His time with the wrong face only left him more exhausted, Anakin’s anger over the necessity of the lie draining him to the dregs.

Obi-Wan got loaded onto a transport, after the mission, having no desire to stay on Naboo for any longer than necessary. He’d never had fond memories of the planet, and each trip only added new nightmares.

He wanted his face back, but that would have to wait for Coruscant. He could only go to his quarters and avoid the mirror in the fresher. He used real water, scrubbing under the burning spray to get the heavy scent blockers he’d had to wear off. It had been disorienting and unpleasant, smelling like someone else.

He pulled on an old set of sleeping clothes - they didn’t fit as well as they once had; he’d lost weight in the last two years - and climbed into his bunk. He wanted to sleep for a year, at least, but hesitated to close his eyes.

There were so many things he didn’t want to see behind his eyes.

He was still staring at the wall, curled on his side, when morning came.

#

The healers on Coruscant gave him back his own face. Obi-Wan looked at himself in the mirror afterwards and found that, even with everything put back as it should have been, he looked unfamiliar.

His eyes didn’t look the same as he remembered them in his memories; there were lines around them and shadows beneath that never went away. There was gray in his hair and throughout his beard. He tried a smile and looked away, smearing a hand across the mirror and shaking his head, knowing he was only being a fool.

War took a toll on all of them. He’d paid such a light price, compared to so many others.

Dal-Voe recognized him, anyway, rushing over when he visited the crèche and hurtling herself at his legs. Obi-Wan reached down, resting a hand briefly against her head; her hair had hints of auburn that caught the sun and her curls were just… everywhere.

He went to one knee, without really thinking about it, and she pressed against him, radiating happiness out into his head, a simple and pure kind of delight. She rubbed her cheek against his and relaxed, all at once, just slumping against him.

Obi-Wan swallowed, his throat gone tight at her unthinking sweetness. He blinked when someone cleared their throat by his shoulder, and blinked up at the crèche master who had come over to check on them.

Dal-Voe lifted her head and blurted, before the crèche master could say anything, “I found a friend!”

“Oh, did you?” he asked, smiling across into hazel eyes that were so like Anakin’s. 

“A big friend!” she told him, releasing him to stretch her arms out to either side and making, presumably, the same sounds her friend had made. Obi-Wan glanced up at the crèche master, who winced.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “What kind of friend did she make?” he asked.

The crèche master sighed, as Dal-Voe stepped back and ran over to her group. She folded her hands as Obi-Wan stood. “There was an… incident,” she said, after a moment. “With a Hgrugin wulff.” 

Obi-Wan jerked, alarm blazing a path down his spine though, obviously, the animal was no longer in the Temple. He said, “Excuse me?” Thoughts of a wulff rampaging among the younglings was enough to turn his gut to ice. They were supposed to be safe at the Temple, nothing should have been able to touch them, but--

“I understand your alarm,” the crèche master said, “believe me. We don’t know how… it got in. We believe someone close to the Temple probably bought it as a pet, and then when it got too much, they likely released it. Many things are drawn to the Temple,” she said, and the fact that she was right was not much of a comfort. 

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand over his face. “How many were hurt?”

There was a moment’s pause, and then the crèche master said, “It harmed no one.”

Obi-Wan looked over at her, waiting for her to take the words back, but she only shook her head. “We found Dal-Voe with it. The other younglings had run away. But she had, well. Convinced it to lay down. She was… hugging it. She was very upset when we told her she couldn’t keep it.”

“Force,” Obi-Wan breathed out, imagining such a large animal - all teeth and claws  _ and  _ the ability to fade completely out of view - so close to the younglings. He looked over at Dal-Voe, who had thrown herself in happily with her fellows, laughter rising in the wind. “I didn’t realize she’d take so much after Anakin.”

The crèche master snorted, and Obi-Wan glanced back at her. “Oh,” she said, “you think she takes after Skywalker, do you?”

“Excuse me?” Obi-Wan said, narrowing his eyes.

“I remember another youngling,” she said, amusement in the corners of her mouth and the gleam of her eyes. “One who used to--”

And Obi-Wan did not get the chance to find out exactly what she remembered him doing before Dal-Voe straightened, turning to face the doors to the crèche was another grin. Obi-Wan stretched out a thought, wincing when he felt Cody on the other side. He had not spoken to any of his men, not since his… alleged death.

He’d thought he’d have a bit more time, but the door had already opened, Din-Voe bounding over and jumping - augmented with the Force - to throw herself against Cody’s chest. She threw both arms around his neck, laughing as he curled an arm around to hold her up, and rubbed her cheeks against his, one and then the other.

She said something, too quietly for Obi-Wan to hear, and Cody turned to look at him, and Obi-Wan braced, memories of Anakin’s anger scalding inside his head. Cody adjusted his grip on Dal-Voe, shifting her to one side as he walked over. 

Obi-Wan pulled on any remaining reserves of calm he had; he had to get this conversation over with at some point. And there was no time like the present. He nodded, and said, “Good to see you again, Commander. Anything gone wrong I should know about?”

“Not anymore,” Cody said, stopping beside him. Dal-Voe reached out, grabbed the front of Obi-Wan’s robes, and yanked him over. She made a happy little sound, pinned there between them, and, a moment later, was squirming down and away, running off.

Obi-Wan watched her go with an aching pang. He exhaled, aware, as she left, of Cody’s emotions. He felt… tightly contained. Spooled up. 

Obi-Wan shut his eyes, rubbing at his face. The 212th had been, at least, busy and far away during the course of the mission. He’d left orders that they not be unnecessarily stressed, that no one be slotted in to take his place during his absence. It had been the extent of the kindness he could offer, without risking the safety of the Chancellor. 

It still left him aching. He said, opening his eyes and staring forward, seeing no reason to delay the inevitable, “I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you. Before.”

Cody sighed. Obi-Wan felt him shift closer and wondered if he would yell, as well, as Anakin had, if his emotions would lash out, all full of hot anger and a desire to hurt. Instead, Cody said, “It’s -- I understand why you had to do it. I know how important OpSec is. And.” Cody hesitated, and then put a hand on Obi-Wan’s back, gentle, no violence or anger in the touch at all. “I knew you weren’t dead, anyway.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, lost, and asked, “What?” He wondered what they’d missed, wondered how grateful he needed to be that no one else had picked up on it. Everything could have gone so wrong, and he’d made some kind of mistake. “How?”

Cody looked at him, gaze sliding across his face, and said, “I just knew.” He shrugged. “The galaxy would feel different, if you were really dead. Besides, only a kriffing idiot would think a single blaster shot would kill you. Do you even  _ know  _ how many times I’ve seen you get shot?”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “They buried me,” he said, willing himself to stop poking at the issue but unable to control the urge.

Cody’s mouth crooked. He still had a hand on Obi-Wan’s back. In fact, Obi-Wan realized, he was stroking his thumb back and forth. “I’ve been watching you do impossible things since the first time I saw you,” he said, as though Obi-Wan’s potential return from the grave would have been possible, even if he’d actually been shot and killed.

“Not even Jedi rise from the dead,” Obi-Wan said, thinking of all his brothers and sisters lost to death’s grasp already, both in the war and before, thinking of Master Jinn, and-- He shivered, swallowing past the sudden tightness in his throat.

“You did,” Cody said, dry, a softness in his gaze that Obi-Wan had not been prepared to see. Cody shifted a little, so they were leaning together, and Obi-Wan knew he should do something, say something, but his mind had gone empty and quiet.

He might have just stood there, like a fool, had not Dal-Voe come running back at that moment, determined that they join some kind of game with the rest of the younglings. Obi-Wan expected, at any moment, for Cody to leave, but he remained until the crèche master gently sent them off, needing to prepare the younglings for their slumber.

And, perhaps, Obi-Wan should have made excuses to allow Cody to go back to the  _ Negotiator _ , to his own bunk, or down to a bar where he could - perhaps - find somewhere else to sleep. Find someone else to sleep with, even.

Obi-Wan’s chest ached and he said, “You’ve never seen my quarters, have you?”

“Not yet,” Cody said, matching his stride, and Obi-Wan nodded. 

“Well, we should fix that. If you’d like?” 

#

Obi-Wan had not seen his own quarters for months, but the droids had kept the space free of dust. They’d kept all of Master Jinn’s plants alive. They’d even, he found, stocked the small kitchen with a few meals, ready to be warmed. 

Cody made an agreeable noise when Obi-Wan asked if he wanted one, wandering through the small quarters, gaze curious. Obi-Wan let him look his fill, watching him trail his fingers over the books Obi-Wan had read or planned to read, over droid parts, left scattered about by Anakin - though Obi-Wan could not remember the last time Anakin had spent a night in their quarters - and the paintings covering the walls.

“What’s the verdict?” Obi-Wan asked, once their food had finished warming and Cody had joined him at the table.

Cody swallowed a bite and nodded, “Very nice,” he said, before his expression clouded a bit. He twisted the utensil in his fingers and said, “I’ve been thinking about where my brothers will live. After the war.”

Obi-Wan could barely imagine a world  _ after the war _ . He knew he’d been able to, once. But it felt like an impossible dream, so often. There was so much pain, so much agony. Trying to picture a galaxy where those things were gone felt like trying to see through mud.

He made the effort, for Cody, pushing around the food on his plate as he thought. “Where would they want to live?” he asked.

Cody shrugged. “I don’t know. Not all in the same place, and... “ He blew out a breath. “I don’t think there’s room for all of them here.”

Obi-Wan considered that. They’d lost so many Jedi, over the course of the war. The Temple felt empty, in a way it never had in his youth. And he knew they had some other holdings, scattered around Coruscant. They had other holdings  _ off  _ world. 

The Order embraced not just those who were Force sensitive. The Guardians of the Whills were only one example of that. Traditionally, only Force sensitive individuals stayed at the Temple. But, traditionally, they had not fought wars. Tradition always had to adjust to the changing shape of the galaxy. And so many of his men had, well. Adopted meditation and a respect for the Force. He asked, rubbing his forehead, “Would they even want to stay with the Jedi?”

“Many would,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan wondered if he would be part of that many, if Obi-Wan would still get to see him, after the war. Even if Cody wanted nothing more to do with him, being able to see him, to stay close to him would be...

He blew out a breath and promised, “We’ll find a place for everyone. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know,” Cody said, foot bumping Obi-Wan’s beneath the table, and their conversation shifted to other matters, to the fights Obi-Wan had missed during his mission, to the Separatist’s newest plans…

They spoke until Obi-Wan’s exhaustion caught up with him and he found himself staring forward, not even sure what he’d been trying to say. The sky outside was all alight with Coruscant’s lights. It was well past the middle of the night, and he grimaced, feeling Cody’s exhaustion echoing across at him.

He said, “I’ve kept you from your bunk.”

Cody shrugged. “I was in no hurry to go,” he said. They’d made their way to the living area and the couch felt soft enough at Obi-Wan’s back that he was tempted to sleep right where he was. But… that would have been foolish. As would forcing Cody to find transport up to the  _ Negotiator  _ for the night. By the time he reached the ship, it would be nearly morning.

Obi-Wan nodded, pushing to his feet. “Then you’re welcome to stay, if you want. I believe I’ll be asleep, soon.” He had not slept, really, since… well. At least the start of the mission. There’d been too much risk to falling into a deep sleep while pretending to be a bounty hunter.

And the images behind his eyes had kept him awake, since then.

“Sleeping sounds good,” Cody said, standing as well, and Obi-Wan went to his quarters to get spare blankets, prepared to convert the couch into a temporary bed. Cody was setting aside pieces of his armor by the time Obi-Wan turned around from the linen closet, sitting on the edge of Obi-Wan’s bed, and…

Obi-Wan swallowed, exhausted and struck by the sudden memory of the comfort of sleeping beside Cody. The last time he could recall waking up feeling good and rested, it had been in Cody’s arms. Cody pulled his blacks over his head, a revelation of skin, and Obi-Wan heard himself make a little sound, almost hurt.

“Obi-Wan?” Cody asked, glancing over at him and cocking his head to the side. “Something wrong?”

Obi-Wan had not made up his mind to sleep  _ with  _ Cody. But that seemed like a serious error in his judgment. What would it hurt, he thought, to sleep beside him? They’d slept in closer quarters in the field, many times. Cody was used to bunking down with his brothers. This probably just felt… natural to him. And - and Obi-Wan thought he might actually  _ sleep _ , if Cody were there.

The promise of avoiding nightmares was startlingly sweet.

He swallowed and said, “No, of course not.” Besides, Cody deserved better than sleeping on an old couch. There was plenty of room in Obi-Wan’s bunk, he found, moments later, stretching out on his side. Cody made a soft little sound, shifting to rest against him, and Obi-Wan knew, distantly, that there were probably a dozen reasons he should not have sighed and melted back, but he was so exhausted and they felt far away.

Cody curled an arm around him, nose brushing the back of his neck, and Obi-Wan slept, fast and deep and dreamless.

#

Obi-Wan woke to warm sunlight across his skin and a warmer body curled around his. He kept his eyes closed for a long moment, aware, with a clearer mind, that this was only going to hurt when… when Cody eventually left.

He considered how close he was to another heat with a frown. There was barely any time, really. Less than two weeks, in all likelihood. He ached at the sweet thought of spending it in his quarters, of waking up one day warm with Cody curled beside him, wanting him, and-- 

And he knew, damn well, it wouldn’t happen.

But he had slept. And he’d had no nightmares. He swallowed, tracing his fingers across the back of Cody’s hand, shifted during the night to press almost directly over his heart. Cody’s mind still felt heavy with sleep, though Obi-Wan noticed, with a stain of heat across his cheeks, that some parts of Cody had risen already. 

That was a… problem that Obi-Wan had not anticipated. He considered the hard press against his back for a long moment, not even sure why  _ he  _ was awake to notice it.

It took him a few heartbeats to place the blame on a thrum of agitation across his emotions, familiar and close. Anakin, he realized, with a little sigh. Apparently, he’d decided on an early morning visit. Obi-Wan sighed and shifted away, listening to Cody make a soft nose of protest, and aching with the desire to just...stay where he was. He shook that selfish want to the side.

Obi-Wan grabbed a robe as he stood - the air of his room felt cool, after sleeping cocooned in Cody’s warmth - and scrubbed at his face. He resisted the urge to stare at Cody, sleeping in his bed, and blew out his breath.

Best to see what Anakin needed. Who knew what might have gone wrong, during the night. He stepped out of the room prepared for the worst, and found Anakin pacing back and forth through their quarters. He jerked his head up when Obi-Wan shut his bedroom door, and said, “Finally, you’re awake.”

“And you’re up very early,” Obi-Wan said, bemused. There had been a time when he’d needed to drag Anakin out of bed. He stepped towards the kitchen, planning to start some tea. The day felt less sharp-edged than the previous, but he still ached, inside.

“Well, I needed to talk to you,” Anakin said. “About what happened.”

Obi-Wan felt a headache starting in the back of his head. Anakin’s emotions were a tangle. Obi-Wan doubted if even Anakin knew what he was feeling, but Obi-Wan picked up threads of frustration and hurt. Anger, as well, lingering in the corners of Anakin’s mind, touching everything else.

“I don’t know what else there is to say about it,” Obi-Wan said, pouring water carefully, focusing on the physical tasks before him, remembering, too well, what Anakin had already said. 

“I--” Anakin started, and then took a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice was rougher, lower, “Is there someone else here?” It was, somehow, unsurprising when Obi-Wan’s bedroom door opened, at that moment. Apparently, they’d been too loud. Cody scrubbed a hand across his face, standing there, looking soft and rumpled, quite without his shirt, and--

Obi-Wan  _ felt  _ the jerk in Anakin’s emotions, the lightning-strike fast shift of them, even as Anakin snapped, “What the kriff are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“I was sleeping,” Cody said, dry, gaze shifting between the two of them.  _ He  _ felt cool and calm, hard edges tucked away as he stepped out of the doorway, towards the kitchen, flashing Obi-Wan a smile that Obi-Wan automatically returned. “Did you--”

“I thought we talked about this,” Anakin cut in, voice gone flat and eyes darkening. He took a step closer, and Cody shifted, facing him and stretching an arm out, palm braced on the wall, neatly blocking the path into the kitchen. There was a growl to Anakin’s words when he continued, “I told you--”

“I only have to take  _ your  _ orders in the field,” Cody interrupted, icy and hard, and Obi-Wan was not sure how they’d gotten to what  _ felt  _ like the beginning of a fight so quickly, nor what the kriff they were getting ready to fight  _ about _ . 

“I think,” he said, carefully, looking for the words to diffuse whatever had suddenly tripped them both over into such agitation. “That maybe we should all just take a breath.” The line of Cody’s shoulders didn’t relax. Obi-Wan reached out without thinking, resting a hand on his back.

Anakin  _ growled _ .

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, the hair rising on the back of his neck, and the noise Cody made in response vibrated through his skin, hit him in the gut and the chest and stayed there. He exhaled, ragged, and it was a relief when his comm went off in the other room. He said, “Excuse me,” and Cody shifted to the side, scowling at Anakin as Obi-Wan slipped by them both.

He listened to the message and sighed. There was always  _ something _ , another attack, another battle, more lives in the balance. There was no time for goodbyes, really, not even with Anakin frowning and radiating upset everywhere. There was barely enough time for Obi-Wan to pull all his robes on, before he and Cody were running for the nearest transport.

Obi-Wan did his best to set aside his confusion on the trip up to the  _ Negotiator _ . He had so many other things to worry about. It didn’t take much effort.

He wondered, absently, what new horrors were waiting on Raydonia.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end, now! Mind the warnings on this one, please. Attempts at non-con and general horribleness related to Raydonia. Canon-typical violence. Clone wars trauma.

The past waited above Raydonia.

Obi-Wan felt like he had walked into a waking nightmare. Maul had been dead for over a decade, or he should have been, by all rights. The memories of his death had played out behind Obi-Wan’s eyes so many times, the image of him tumbling down into the abyss, his eyes blazing yellow with hatred and--

And Maul was not nearly as dead as he should have been, put back together with some terrible magicks, speaking Master Jinn’s name with his accursed mouth. He’d brought a  _ brother  _ this time. 

Obi-Wan wished, facing them both, that he’d managed to bring any help with  _ him _ , but the 212th had gotten pulled aside during the trip. There was just him, alone on Maul’s stinking ship, him and all his ghosts.

The war had filled the entire galaxy with despondency, rage, and hatred. Holding those emotions  _ out  _ took effort even on normal days. They all swam up towards the surface, burning through Obi-Wan’s veins, as Maul taunted him. At least it kept his mind off of the pain as one blow after another landed.

He pushed the dark emotions back, but at a cost, one that perhaps he would not have been able to continue paying. Fortunately, it did not seem that he would have to pay for very long. He looked up, as they stripped his lightsaber from him, into the blazing eyes of Maul’s brother, and waited for the killing blow.

“Bind him,” Maul said, instead, stepping closer, his saber still lit and in hand. He brought the glowing tip of it close; it sizzled, right under Obi-Wan’s chin, as Savage moved, grabbing his arms and yanking them back.

Obi-Wan glared up at Maul, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling his pulse beat against his skin. He said, flat, “You should kill me now, before I cut off something that you  _ can’t  _ live without.”

Maul snorted a laugh, even as Savage pulled his bonds tighter, so that Obi-Wan felt the bones in his wrists shifting and grinding together. It hurt, but pain was an old friend. Familiar. Comforting, in a very strange way. 

“I’ve no intention of killing you,” Maul said, keeping his saber in place and reaching out, dragging fingers across Obi-Wan’s cheek, through a smear of blood. He continued the movement, fingers sliding back into Obi-Wan’s hair and clenching, hard and sudden, pulling at the strands so that his scalp burned. “I think that you’ll be much more fun alive.”

Obi-Wan ignored the agony in the back of his head and rasped, through a stinging smile, “Don’t count on it.”

Maul chuckled, releasing his grip on Obi-Wan’s hair and, before he could adjust to that, striking him hard across the cheek. Obi-Wan hit the side of the ship, coughed, and slid down. He kicked out, automatically, and Maul drove a metallic foot into his side. Obi-Wan rolled, trying to protect his core, and the next blows landed on his back. Two, three, a fourth time, and--

And by the time Obi-Wan got his breath back, the world wouldn't stop spinning. He coughed, blood in the back of his throat, and said, “Oh, yes, I can see we’re going to have a delightful time together.”

“I knew you’d come around,” Maul said, grabbing him, pulling him onto his back which blazed with a deep, warning kind of pain. Maul crouched near his head, eyes aglow in the dim light of the ship as he took a deep, deep breath. “And just  _ think  _ about how much better it’ll be in a few days.” 

Obi-Wan’s gut went cold and hard. He fought not to let his breathing change, thinking about  _ a few days _ . He was already starting to feel warm under his skin, the early warning flush of an approaching heat. And he remembered Naboo, remembered, too well, the Dark slide of interest across his mind and his flesh.

He didn’t want to have a heat.

But the universe had never really cared what he wanted.

He said, working to keep his tone irreverent, “Got something special planned?”

He didn’t expect Maul to jerk forward, hand closing around his throat as he was shoved down, arms pinned beneath him. Maul loomed over him, knees on either side of his ribs, fingers digging into skin, pointed teeth catching the light, terribly, as he said, “I’ve had something special planned for you for  _ years _ , Kenobi. Since the first time I smelled you. I had so much time to think about  _ exactly _ what I’d do to you, once I finally found you again.”

Maul looked down, eyes bright and considering as he said, “I can smell how close you are, now, you know. I was prepared to wait, but you’re so  _ ripe _ .”

Obi-Wan should have brought back up. He should never have come to this place. He should have stayed on Coruscant, in bed with Cody, he should have--

He shoved those thoughts away and spat, wondering if he could make Maul angry enough for the man to start making mistakes, “Too bad  _ you  _ can’t do anything about it. Unless you got a new cock to go with those legs, which--”

The blow across his temple left his ears ringing and the world wobbling around, though he was pretty sure he wasn’t moving. Maul’s nails bit against the skin of his neck, slicing in. Obi-Wan felt blood, hot and wet, sliding around to the nape of his neck, soaking into his robes.

Maul snarled, “Don’t worry, Kenobi, Savage will make sure you feel it. In fact.” He cocked his head to the side, smile showing all his teeth, “I suppose there’s no harm in a trial run. What do you think, brother?”

Obi-Wan snarled and thrashed, as best he could, as Maul shifted above him, settling his weight onto Obi-Wan’s chest. He weighed a terrible amount, the metal half of his body crushing the air from Obi-Wan’s lungs, his arms caught under him, bent wrong. Maul purred, evidently delighted, “I want to see your face, every single one of your emotions, as your hope goes out, as you realize that no one is going to save you, this time.” He tightened his hand, just a little more, around Obi-Wan’s throat.

Obi-Wan would have bitten him, if he’d gotten close enough, his heart beating out of rhythm, ribs aching, some broken already and--

And he heard fabric tear, from somewhere far away. He set his teeth, resolved not to give Maul the satisfaction of making so much as a sound. Huge fingers bit into his thighs. He glared up, bracing for it, and knew exactly what they would have done to him, perhaps without any break until his heat started, had not Ventress shown up, unexpectedly. 

As it was, she caught the brothers… somewhat distracted. He’d never have thought when they first met, with her intent on killing him while he carried Dal-Voe, that he’d be  _ happy _ to see her. Obi-Wan gulped at the air when Maul rolled off of him, his heart ratcheting too fast and his lungs burning. It was a relief when Ventress cut his bonds, even more so when she gave him a saber.

Even still, the pair of them barely managed to get away, crowded into a tiny escape craft and thrown out into the wastes of space, Maul roaring his impotent fury behind them. Obi-Wan pushed himself up against the wall of the escape pod as it spun away from Maul’s ship, jittering in his skin, thrumming with leftover adrenaline and torn by memory’s sharp teeth. 

He picked at the scraps of his pants. They were… more rags that anything else. There were marks on his thighs, he noted, tossing aside a piece of fabric. Bruises and scratches. Fingerprints, graven into his skin. A bite mark, above his knee.

He thought he might be ill, and swallowed back the bile. At least his tunics covered him, well enough. At least the injuries to his chest were hidden. He pulled his tunic a little tighter, unsure what had happened to his belts.

Ventress asked him something - her words were a buzz of noise - and he snapped back a reply automatically, not even remembering what he said afterwards. He thunked his head back against the wall of the ship, trying to steady out his breathing. Things weren’t right under his skin. He was bleeding, somewhere inside - kidneys, he thought, absently - and fell into repairing the damage, because it was that or die.

He only stirred some time later, when the shroud of death was not so close. He lifted his head and grimaced - far from well - and swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat. He was unsure how much time had passed, but they were still very much in the middle of the expanse of space.

Obi-Wan supposed, taking a cautious breath, that he ought to be grateful that Ventress seemed intent on licking her own wounds. She could have killed him while he turned inward to recover, but only felt shattered in the Force, full of sharp-edged shards. He asked, when he felt steady enough to speak again, his mouth tasting of ash, “Are you alright?”

She scoffed a laugh at him. She’d bandaged some of her wounds while he was sunk into his own head. She said, “Better than you would have been, if Maul had his hands on you now.”

Obi-Wan stared at her, blank. Ventress rolled her eyes, leaning towards him across the cramped space, taking a pointedly deep breath. She hissed, sharply, “Heat due right about now, Kenobi?”

He jerked back from her as much as he possibly could, a fresh surge of adrenaline burning his veins. So he’d been out at least a handful of days, then, trying to repair the damage inside. At least he knew that much. 

Her words dragged the state of his body to the forefront of his thoughts. He became aware, terribly, of warmth in his gut and an ache - still building - in his spine. He took a breath and noted the tang of alpha pheromones on the air as she watched him with her pale, pale eyes, arching one eyebrow. She cocked her head to the side, and asked, “Want some help with that?”

“No,” Obi-Wan snapped, automatically, without even thinking. He resisted the urge to shift away further, holding her gaze with a scowl.

Ventress quirked her mouth, not into a smile. She’d never been much of one for grinning. “Are you sure?” she asked, taking another deep breath. “I did save your life. You  _ owe  _ me.” Her voice was a purr. She leaned forward, putting a hand on his bare thigh, sliding  _ up _ , her fingers a hot brand. “I know just what I’d like in payment. And I’d be nicer than Maul and Savage would have been.”

“A rancor could say the same,” Obi-Wan shot back, reaching for her wrist and removing her hand from his leg, ignoring the response of his body, not even entirely sure  _ why  _ he was bothering. Ventress  _ had  _ saved his life, and he had no way of knowing how long they’d be trapped in the escape pod. 

And he’d have been lying if he said that he’d never felt a jump of attraction between them, even - or especially - when they were crossing sabers. She  _ wanted  _ him, and the physical reality of pulling her close might get him out of his head, out of the past, but--

But he didn’t want her to touch him.

“Suit yourself,” she said, tugging her wrist from his grip and leaning back away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head back and shutting her eyes. “Just let me know when you change your mind.”

Obi-Wan ignored the warmth building under his skin, gritted his jaw shut, and resolved to burn for the entirety of the three days, if necessary. He blew out a breath, reached for the Force, and tried to find some small measure of peace.

#

They were picked up by a freighter less than a day later. Ventress slipped aboard, blending into the crew with one last lewd offer that Obi-Wan declined with his arms curled around his chest. The captain agreed it was best that Obi-Wan stayed in the escape pod as he contacted the GAR. He had, apparently, a lot of lonely crew members aboard ship, many of whom viewed an omega in heat as some kind of fairytale.

At least they delivered food and water before shutting the hatch again.

Obi-Wan sat in the bottom of the escape pod - at least Ventress’s departure gave him more room - and sank as deep into meditation as he could. He’d not attempted to wait out a heat since he was a child. 

It was as unpleasant as he remembered, but hardly the worst thing he’d ever gone through. There were other alphas on the freighter. He could sense them, little bright spots in his attention, all of them finding reasons to be near the hangar.

He could have ended it, chosen any one of them.

But he had… no pressing reason to ease the heat. He couldn’t  _ go  _ anywhere, though no doubt there were battles that needed his attention. And something about the thought of inviting one of them into the escape pod left his mouth tasting sour. Perhaps all the memories, the remembered aches brought back from Maul’s resurrection, had left him in no mood for brief physical pleasures.

#

Obi-Wan was still meditating when the  _ Negotiator  _ found them. He had his senses stretched out, away from the discomfort of his physical body, and felt the minds of his crew as the ship came out of hyperspace. He opened his eyes, dizzy with both hunger and thirst; he’d forbidden anyone from the freighter from entering the pod as a precaution.

He stood, took a breath, and opened the door as he felt more familiar signatures in the Force. He walked down the ramp under his own power, nodded at the troopers waiting for him, and said, his voice rough despite all his best efforts, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry for the delay,” Hardcase said, expression hidden behind his helmet, even as his scent shifted in response to Obi-Wan’s state. He took a half step forward and then caught himself, his voice lower when he said, “Let’s get you back home, sir.”

They didn’t put hands on him on the short trip over to the transport. He considered, vaguely, as he sank into a chair, that he should have perhaps just stayed in the escape pod, until the heat passed. He only had a day left, at most. It was too late for that, in any case. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, the shuttle had landed on the  _ Negotiator _ .

“Don’t worry,” Bricker said, as Obi-Wan gathered the focus necessary to stand, “the Commander is outside.”

Obi-Wan sunk his teeth into his tongue, working to keep the sound that tried to escape his throat in check. “Oh?” he said, breathier than intended. “Is he?”

And then the door to the transport was open, and he didn’t have to wonder anymore. Bricker stepped to one side as Cody came up the ramp, bucket off, radiating concern as he said, “Force, what happened to you?”

Obi-Wan looked down at himself. He’d focused his energies on the injuries inside, the ones that would kill him. He’d barely bothered with the bruises and scratches, though they’d faded a bit over the past few days.

He’d turned green and purple down his legs. He knew there were worse marks, under his tunic. He said, looking across at Cody, shivering despite all his best efforts, “The past.” Obi-Wan fought and failed to keep his breathing slow and even. 

He couldn’t seem to stop staring at Cody, but, at least, Cody seemed to be having the same problem. Obi-Wan knew, vaguely, that he should not have brought this issue to lay at Cody’s feet. He should have taken care of it on his own. He could have done so at any point in the last two days, could have let Ventress take her repayment in flesh, could have called out to any of the crew of the freighter. They’d have jumped at the chance.

But he hadn’t wanted to.

“Make sure the halls are clear,” Cody said, without looking away, which made no sense to Obi-Wan, but Bricker seemed to understand. He snapped an affirmative and stepped from the shuttle, barking orders that Obi-Wan barely heard. It seemed far more important to sway forward.

Obi-Wan managed to stop before he slumped into Cody, focusing on his breathing as he said, “I’d…would you, please--”

Cody made a desperate sound and closed the last of the distance between them, curling an arm around him and pulling him closer. Obi-Wan expected to be kissed, had braced for the pain - his bottom lip was split quite severely - and shivered again when Cody just… held him, a hand cupped at the back of his head, soft.

Obi-Wan exhaled, shaky, face pressed against Cody’s shoulder, where he could close his eyes and not worry about someone attacking him. Cody said, against his hair, “You need to go to the medical bay.”

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said, into the quiet space between them. “I’m -- not while I’m like this.” He didn’t want to burn in front of the medics, didn’t want to feel like this around a droid. Medical care could wait a while longer, until the heat faded. He wasn’t in any danger of dying. He said, hating the weakness that rose within him, knowing he shouldn’t ask,“Please, Cody. Just help me.”

Cody swore, and Obi-Wan made a sound of protest when Cody shifted away from him. He barely had time to process the loss before Cody dipped his knees and, without even hesitating, lifted Obi-Wan off of his feet.

Obi-Wan meant to protest that he could walk on his own, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he could. It had been days since he’d eaten or properly slept. All of his energy had gone into staying alive. And the heat was burning him up. He held on, vaguely aware that the halls of the  _ Negotiator  _ were startlingly empty, but that seemed very unimportant, especially as they reached his quarters.

Cody carried him through the door and, unfortunately, not right over to the bed. Obi-Wan made another protesting sound as Cody took him into the fresher. Obi-Wan burned under his skin as Cody lowered him gently to his feet, turning aside to knock the shower on.

Obi-Wan swallowed a wince. He  _ hurt _ . Everywhere. And he was burning alive. “Cody,” he said, reaching a hand out, wanting at least - at least some small relief, for the burning to ease; he trusted Cody to make it stop, to make it  _ better _ .

“It’s alright,” Cody said. “You’ll feel better after you get cleaned up.” Obi-Wan shivered, trying to focus. He could… at least get ready, he thought. He tugged at what remained of his robes, pulling them off his arms with a hiss and tossing them to the floor, one after the other. He’d managed to get his undershirt off by the time Cody turned to look at him.

Cody froze, emotions twisting, sharp, as he rasped, “Kriffing hell, what did they do?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking down at his body. The bruises were… everywhere. He figured, absently, that they told enough of a story without his help. He could see the imprint of hands and fingers, here and there, the shape of Maul’s metal foot. Bite marks. He felt the scratches on his throat. He said, quietly, “Not everything they wanted to do.”

“Force,” Cody gritted out, jerking into motion again. “Come here. Are you going to fall down?” Obi-Wan blinked at him, even as Cody guided him forward and under the spray of wonderful water. He reached out and braced a hand on the wall, letting the shower beat down on his head and shoulders. He felt so hot. Aching. He knew that the night wasn’t going to be a  _ pleasant  _ experience - not with the way he felt - but he didn’t want to burn anymore, and--

And it made no sense that Cody had not pushed him against a wall, pressed against him, into him, and--

“Sh,” Cody said, quietly, his armor clattering where it hit the floor. Obi-Wan blinked over at him, swaying a little, and Cody swore under his breath. He stepped into the water with his blacks still on, and Obi-Wan only realized why when Cody pulled him closer, steadying him. He hadn’t realized he was so unsteady.

“There you go,” Cody said, while Obi-Wan slumped against him, trusting Cody to hold him up. Force, but Obi-Wan loved him. The water felt good, washing away Maul’s stinking smell and so many days of grime and filth. He closed his eyes, breathing slow and deep, listening to Cody murmur, “I’ve got you now.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and jerked out a nod. He shivered as Cody slowly, carefully, cleaned the filth off of him. He could feel, pressed against his hip, evidence that Cody  _ did  _ want him, but… But for an impossible stretch of time they just stood there, under the water. “What are you doing?” Obi-Wan managed to ask, shivering - it had gotten worse - and trying to stop. 

Cody adjusted his hold, one arm curled around Obi-Wan’s chest, and said, “Trying to figure out how to patch you up.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, heavily, at the feel of fingers trailing across his stomach. There wasn’t much to do for the injuries there. They’d all been internal. He’d tended to them himself. He said, quiet, “I thought…” He swallowed, fuzziness inside his head, mingled with want and confusion and need. “Please, I waited for you.”

Cody froze, emotions full of something close to agony. He said, “I’d-- I’d hurt you.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said, breath going terrible and unsteady, for a moment. He  _ burned _ . And he didn’t want the lingering memory of Maul and Savage’s hands on his body, their terrible hungers pressing against his thoughts. He wanted--wanted to bury them, cover it up like a bacta patch over a wound. He turned, marshalling the strength for that, cupping Cody’s cheek, leaning to press the barest kiss across his mouth. “Please. I need you.”

Cody swallowed, hard, and then nodded. He said, “Not here.”

And Obi-Wan burned, through the process of drying off. Even the brief pressure of the towel felt unpleasant against his skin. He got distracted, anyway, watching Cody finally pull off his sodden blacks, dropping them in the bottom of the shower. Cody caught him staring, and said, “I can just hold you.”

“Hold me after,” Obi-Wan countered, negotiating, because everything all at once was too much to bear. Cody swore, but they were - finally - headed to his bunk. Obi-Wan held onto him, afire and desperate for relief.

“We’ll be careful,” Cody said, softly, and Obi-Wan didn’t need to be told that. Cody was always careful with him. “Sh,” he said, shifting to kiss Obi-Wan’s cheek, where the skin wasn’t split. Obi-Wan shivered and sank to sit on the bunk, tugging Cody along. 

He joined Obi-Wan on the bunk, finally, and, oh, but it felt good to stretch out beside him. Cody’s touches were still so terribly soft, but the fire had burned in Obi-Wan for so long. He felt ready to combust as Cody brushed kisses across bruises, barely there, rewriting the memory of every foul touch, his hands a relief as he finally curled fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock.

Orgasm left Obi-Wan lightheaded, panting. He repeated, feeling so far out of his head he could barely think, “I waited for you.” Cody groaned against his skin, shifting to tug Obi-Wan over, onto his stomach, where there were not so many bruises. He sprawled there, face turned to the side, boneless, bracing for Cody’s weight across his back.

Cody held himself up, even as he settled closer, his elbows on either side of Obi-Wan’s shoulders. And Obi-Wan felt himself shudder with a heady kind of relief. He felt… blocked off from everything else. The rest of the universe was somewhere, out there, past the warm promise of Cody’s touch. 

He felt… safe, he realized, with a slow blossom of warmth inside his skin, melting against the mattress. Cody nuzzled at his hair, breath warm on Obi-Wan’s skin, and asked, “Are you  _ sure _ ?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan panted, canting his hips up, as best he could, and Cody groaned. He pressed a kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s head, and his push  _ in  _ was slow and careful, gentle. And Obi-Wan knew, even lost in his head, in the burning, aching mess of his thoughts, that - that he was stealing something that wasn’t his, that Cody likely didn’t want-- He rasped, lost, unsure why it mattered but sure it  _ did _ , “I waited for you.”

“You don’t have to wait any more,” Cody panted, driving the last truly coherent thoughts from Obi-Wan’s mind, shifting, moving with glorious purpose. “I’m right here.” Obi-Wan gasped, stretching a hand out, curling his fingers around Cody’s, relieved, deep in his chest, when Cody gripped back, able to imagine, just for a moment, that Cody loved him back.

#

Obi-Wan meant to apologize in the morning, after Cody held him through the night, as good as his word, for his presumption. He meant to explain that Cody did not have to  _ keep  _ helping him. He meant to smile and nod at Cody’s relief and promise that they would still be able to work together.

After all, Obi-Wan had learned long ago how to work with those who didn’t really want him.

But Cody brought him a cup of tea, rubbed a gentle hand down his back, and asked, three times, if Obi-Wan were sure he was alright. And Obi-Wan grew distracted by explaining… everything that had happened with Maul, which left Cody’s jaw clenched tight and his right index finger bouncing up and down against his leg.

He felt… furious. Enough so that it left a little shiver in Obi-Wan’s bones.

The conversation slipped away for a moment as Obi-Wan’s stomach rumbled to remind him that it had been days since he’d eaten. He’d barely managed to bolt down a nutrient bar - going over everything he’d missed during his unpleasant adventure - before they received an emergency transmission.

Obi-Wan set aside the personal conversations he needed to have with a sigh, standing and ignoring the soreness of his body.

They were, apparently, needed elsewhere. The war dragged them on. He hoped that it would drag him away from Maul.

#

Escaping all of his memories in the coming days proved difficult. Anakin heard, somehow, about what had happened and commed him. Obi-Wan braced for more anger; they had not left one another on good terms on Coruscant, after all, but Anakin seemed… regretful, during their conversation.

He crossed his arms as Obi-Wan gave a very abbreviated account of what had happened with Maul and Savage, and said, when he finished, “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He’d recovered further from the ordeal. The medics had cleared him to return to his duties, not commenting on the shape of some of the marks on his skin. He said, “It was nothing you did.”

Anakin blew out a breath. He said, “I should have been there,” and Obi-Wan restrained a shudder at that thought. If the galaxy was forced to endure Maul’s presence, Obi-Wan was happy to be the only one to bear it. He could take it.

“Have you seen Dal-Voe?” Obi-Wan asked, because that was always an efficient way to change the subject, and he didn’t want to discuss Maul - or what he had done - anymore.

Anakin spent a few moments discussing their daughter, his countenance brightened, and then grimaced, looking to the side. He said, blurry with distance, “I also wanted… I know I barged in, last time you were at the Temple. I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan sat, stunned, for a moment. He’d been mostly sure Anakin would never mention the incident again. He must have stayed quiet for too long, because Anakin continued, scrubbing a hand at the back of his neck, “I just worry about you, Master.”

“What are you worried about?” he asked, bemused, and Anakin frowned.

“Nothing,” he said, “just. You - your heat was recently. And--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan cut in, because he couldn’t imagine a single way that sentence was going to end in a favorable way. 

Anakin looked too stubborn to care about such concerns. “Were you with him, again, because--”

“Anakin, enough,” Obi-Wan indulged the idea - brief - of just disconnecting the comm. Fortunately, Anakin settled and blew out a breath.

He said, “Fine, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Which… made little sense. Still, they managed to end the holo on a pleasant note, which he took as a small victory. He’d grown to appreciate those, more and more, with each battle fought and lost. 

#

Obi-Wan would have been happy never seeing Maul again. In an ideal world, Maul’s ship would have exploded, taking both he and his brother to their deaths in the empty wastes of space. The universe, as the war had proven over and over again, was far from ideal.

He saw Maul again on Florrum and watched Gallia fall to a Sith, to Maul’s hulking brother. Taking Savage’s arm in return seemed like an unfair trade, but he had no opportunity to take more than that, before they were gone. 

In the aftermath of the conflict, before Obi-Wan could turn his attention fully to the pirates, he considered, grimly, what he needed to cut off to kill a Zabrak. A lightsaber blade through the neck seemed very likely to do the trick of making them  _ stay  _ dead. He resolved to keep that in mind, for next time he ran into them.

He did not doubt for a moment that Maul would find him once more.

Hondo wanted to talk, afterwards. Hondo always wanted to talk, delivering cups full of some foul homemade brew as he regaled the gathered with tales of his derring-do. Obi-Wan sat - tired from… everything - and lifted the tankard, and drank. 

Alcohol burned his throat, but he’d long ago gotten used to that. He’d always liked the taste of such concoctions, anyway. Hondo - or whoever was in charge of his brewery - didn’t do such an awful job, all things considered. 

And it was better than drinking what passed as water in such places. 

Hondo pulled out the stool beside Obi-Wan at some point in the evening. Obi-Wan eyed him, worried because Hondo appeared to be all smiles. Hondo slapped his shoulder, beaming, and said, “You know, I’m beginning to think the Jedi aren’t so bad, really.”

“Is that so,” Obi-Wan said, taking another swallow. 

“Sure,” Hondo tapped his fingers on the table. “I met that young apprentice of yours. The Togruta girl.”

“I heard.” Ahsoka’s stories of Hondo’s…courtesy implied that it had left much to be desired. He released the swell of irritation in his bones to the Force, refusing to allow it purchase in his heart. Force knew that Ahsoka and the younglings had enough to worry about without kriffing pirates complicating the issue. He shook himself. “And she’s not my apprentice.”

Hondo snorted. “What’s Skywalker’s is yours,” he said, “everyone knows that.”

Obi-Wan drained the last of the liquor from the cup. He felt exhausted, but when  _ didn’t  _ he feel bone-tired? He blamed his grimace on the taste of the alcohol. He said, “Well, I thank you for your hospitality, Hondo, but…” He stood.

“Surely you’re not going to go yet,” Hondo protested, gesturing around at the room, full of pirates and music and smoke. There were a variety of humanoids already dancing, many of them losing clothing as they did. “Stay! Celebrate!”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his heart heavy and aching. “I have a sister to take home,” he said, and Hondo sobered, nodding. He made no further protests as Obi-Wan slipped from the room. Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand over his face outside, listening to the faint sound of music and revelry, thinking of Adi’s reaction to such madness and putting a hand on the wall for a moment, the swell of pain in his chest cresting out.

They’d lost so much in the war, and it kept taking more. Adi had - had never even enjoyed fighting. And yet she’d been murdered, brutally, while Obi-Wan watched, helpless to stop it, all over again.

He gritted his teeth, grief and guilt swirling up into his throat; the emotions were so familiar they felt like old friends. They kept him company as he ensured Adi was ready for travel. They followed him, closer than his shadow, as he climbed aboard a ship, and set a course back towards the Core.

The  _ Negotiator  _ intercepted him before he exited the Rim, picking him up, and Cody’s hand on his back - warm and sure - was more of a comfort than he deserved.

#

The war dragged them to new worlds and through new battles. They lost more people, lost little pieces of themselves, over and over again. Sources of comfort withered and died all around; even the Temple seemed a less welcoming and secure place, as the days passed.

Obi-Wan recalled the younglings facing fewer hazards when he had grown up. It seemed something was always going wrong, and he happened to be working with Anakin when they received the news that there’d been some kind of contamination of the Temple food stores.

They did not hear of the contamination until the issue had been resolved - it left several of the older children in need of long-term healing - and two of the youngest were placed under Master Yoda’s direct care. 

Bant - who sent Obi-Wan the message - said that Dal-Voe had come through the experience with minimal discomfort. The message still filled Anakin with hot anxiety. He paced through Obi-Wan’s quarters, steps short and sharp, his emotions overrunning his control and staining the signature of the Force.

Obi-Wan winced, reaching out with the Force to soothe him as much as possible, ignoring the horrified, frozen ache in his own gut. He wondered where Cody was, setting that thought aside. “She’s fine,” Obi-Wan said, “she must have your constitution.” Comments about Anakin’s ability to eat anything had spread, even among the troopers, who had been engineered to handle almost any source of food.

“I can’t believe you’re joking about this,” Anakin snapped, turning on him with a scowl, hands clenching at his sides. “It feels like someone’s trying to - to kill her, and you’re joking.”

Obi-Wan sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not trying to make jokes,” he said, which was true enough, but sometimes the only alternative to...poking at the universe was screaming, which he could not do, “only--”

“She’s  _ our  _ daughter,” Anakin cut in, swinging back into agitated movement. “And she could have died.  _ Again _ . Don’t you even care?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, stung. It was strange how Anakin could hurt him, without even appearing to try. He said, striving to keep his tone even, “Of course I care, Anakin. Can you not feel that?”

Anakin ducked his head, even before Obi-Wan spoke, grimacing, with shame tinging the edges of his anger. “I - yes. I can. It just doesn’t - it doesn’t seem like you’re upset.”

Even after so many years with the Order, Anakin sometimes - oftentimes - expected the emotional reactions he’d spent the first nine years of his life seeing. Obi-Wan was increasingly sure there was a part of Anakin that would never fully stop viewing Jedi responses -  _ his  _ responses - as wrong, simply because they were different. But that was… a discussion for another time.

Anakin would not take such observations in the spirit they were intended, of concern for him. So Obi-Wan swallowed them down, where they joined all such other observations in his gut. They would have time to discuss Anakin’s future - what he really  _ wanted  _ from his life, tied, Obi-Wan thought, to the continued scent of Senator Amidala on his skin - after the war, when everyone was no longer trying to kill them all the time.

“You know that I would protect Dal-Voe and all of the younglings,” he said, instead, and felt Anakin’s emotions lurch again. “With my life if necessary.”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Anakin snapped, pacing forward, almost grabbing him and turning at the last moment. “You think I’m - I’m not being Jedi enough, because I care more about Dal-Voe than all the rest? Is that it? She’s my  _ daughter,  _ Obi-Wan, I thought you’d understand that.”

“ _ Our _ daughter,” Obi-Wan corrected, gently. “And I never said anything about your reaction.” He felt too tired for this conversation, but the universe didn’t care. 

Anakin drew up short with a visible flinch, turning his face to the side. There was a conflict inside him, something so deep and heavy that it weighed down the Force around them, deforming the flow of living power around them for a moment.

Anakin’s shoulders slumped with it and he turned, sitting heavily on Obi-Wan’s bunk. He looked up, eyes wet and shining when he said, “Obi-Wan. Master.” He reached out, taking Obi-Wan’s hand. “I--just--I had a dream about her, an awful dream...” He grimaced, looking to the side.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, softly, aching to see Anakin in the throws of such distress. Anakin swallowed convulsively, tugging Obi-Wan closer and pushing his forehead against Obi-Wan’s stomach, fingers clenched tight in Obi-Wan’s robes.

“Sometimes,” Anakin said, his voice hoarse and his grip on the wrong side of too-tight. “Sometimes, I think I should be--”

Alarms chose that moment to blare through the ship. Obi-Wan smothered a sigh, setting the conversation to the side, unsure if he should feel relief or dread to be denied the knowledge of Anakin’s wish. The war called to all of them, called with bloodshed and death and the slow loss of all that they held dear.

And Obi-Wan, bracing for the worst of it, spared a thought for the recovery of Dal-Voe and all the other younglings.

#

Anakin had not mentioned his wishes again by the time Satine’s message found Obi-Wan on Coruscant. He’d been on a very brief trip to see the Council, only barely getting enough time to visit Dal-Voe, who had been frustrated to find he hadn’t brought Cody along.

Still, it had been good to hold Dal-Voe close, to see physical proof that she was fully recovered. It had been so long since he held her, and she’d grown so much in the time. Obi-Wan had lingered until she went to her sleeping quarters, aching in his chest.

He’d only just left the residential halls when the world twisted around him with the word from Mandalore. Seeing Satine’s visage again - even in a holo - was jarring, another shove towards a complete loss of balance. Listening to her plead for his help on Mandalore threw a part of him back years in time.

He felt like a twenty-year-old again.

Things had been so simple back then, even though they’d felt complicated at the time. The fate of only one planet had hung in the balance, during their year together. People had been trying to kill them, but - but it all seemed so clear-cut, looking back.

Nothing felt clear-cut, anymore. The entire galaxy was nothing but knotted, tangled webs. But Satine needed his help and that felt simple. He’d always tried to help her. There would be, perhaps, always a part of him that loved her.

Standing in his quarters, he considered his options and found them to be lacking. The 212th was still deployed, far away from him. Lately, it seemed like all of his missions were solo affairs, exhausting and brutal. And he couldn’t drag them into Mandalore’s problems, anyway. He couldn’t drag  _ anyone _ into Mandalore’s problems, that would have been selfish. 

But neither could he bring himself to just… disappear without saying anything.

Obi-Wan scrubbed his face, encrypting a message and sending it to Cody before he could decide otherwise. His Commander should, at least, know where he’d gone. He had a few days to himself, allegedly. He could go to Mandalore, extract Satine, and return, before he was needed again.The Council had told him to rest, which was… an almost hilarious thought. 

At least, if things went poorly, everyone would know where to come to find his body. He smiled, grimly, and went to Satine on Mandalore. 

He knew Mandalore, knew it’s problems, and they felt… small, compared to the miasma that filled the rest of the galaxy. It felt like something he could fix, something he could handle, when nothing else did. He could make things right for her, get her off-world, and--

And none of it went the way he’d hoped that it would.

He held Satine, as she died, her final confession like a spear of ice through his heart. She’d spent her whole life fighting for something that would crumble without her, something that had crumbled already. And still, as she died, he felt the swell of her feelings, curling around him, sinking into his skin.

Her emotions lingered, even as he was thrown in a cell, listening to Maul’s jeers and taunts - something about killing another of  _ his  _ alphas - without hearing them. The taunts didn’t even make sense, he thought, from a distance. Cody wasn’t anywhere close to Mandalore - thank the  _ Force _ , Obi-Wan was so relieved he’d come alone, not that Cody was--Obi-Wan shook himself, sinking to the ground, unable to keep standing.

He wondered if he would die there in the cell. Likely Maul had a grander execution planned for him. Something that, Obi-Wan felt sure, would take a significant amount of time. He felt the hot fury and lust directed his way, always, from Maul. Whatever he intended would hurt and it would hurt for a long time. 

Perhaps until his next heat, if he were truly unlucky.

Perhaps past that, he thought, shuddering, if Savage got a child on him.

He wondered, instead of settling into meditation, how long it would take for the Republic to come for him. If they would. Perhaps, if Maul dragged things out long enough, they might find him before he died. Perhaps there might even be some pieces of him left. Enough to put back together.

#

In the end, no Republic forces came to his rescue and Maul did not have the chance to engage in whatever bloody distractions he had planned. Bo-Katan facilitated Obi-Wan’s escape and sent him hurtling back towards Coruscant, leaving Mandalore in far worse shape than when he’d found it.

He was beginning to wonder if that had ever been the case. Satine’s belief in her dream had fueled change, but… He had too long alone in space to wonder if any of the changes had ever stood any chance of lasting.

By the time he was picked up by a larger ship, which promptly changed course for a rendezvous with the  _ Negotiator, _ he felt nothing but cold inside. The Council demanded to speak with him almost immediately, and he answered their questions over a holofeed, barely hearing the words he spoke.

He imagined that he could feel their disappointment across all the empty vastness of space. He expected, fully, to face severe reprimands, and knew he deserved it. He’d gone out of his way to involve himself in a conflict where the Jedi had no place, while they were already at war, no less. A war they were only just managing to avoid losing outright. Instead, they were losing in a long, drawn-out fashion.

Perhaps it was the very state of that war that kept the Council from doing much more than frowning at him. He was more useful on the front lines, he supposed, than he would have been meditating on his choices on some faraway planet.

He knew too much of battle and bloodshed. His bones and blood were full of war. Perhaps they always had been. And so the Council could not spare him, not even as punishment. 

The galaxy had never seen fit to spare him anything.

#

Obi-Wan felt cold still by the time he arrived on the  _ Negotiator _ . It felt strange, to walk through the halls among all of his men, who felt the same as they had before; tired and worn down and increasingly hopeless.

Obi-Wan went to the bridge and got caught up on what he had missed. He replied to a comm from Anakin. He listened to their new orders and smiled when it was called for, noticing, absently, that Cody was watching him, a furrow between his brows.

There was nothing left in Obi-Wan to offer as comfort or reassurance. He excused himself to his quarters as quickly as he could, walked on numb legs to his bunk, and sat, elbows on his knees so his head could hang down, feeling as though it weighed as much as a battle cruiser.

He grimaced when someone chimed at his door, and would have sent them away had it been anyone but Cody. He scrubbed at his face, hoping to work some sensation back into his skin, and said, “Come in, Commander.”

Cody came in carrying nutribars, looked Obi-Wan over, and sighed. He sat down the food and his helmet, before moving towards Obi-Wan’s little kitchen area. Obi-Wan said, “You don’t have to do that,” as Cody filled his tea pot and set it in the heating element.

Cody shook his head and said nothing as the water came to a boil and the tea steeped. Obi-Wan felt too tired to carry a conversation on his own. He leaned back until his shoulders hit the wall, stared forward, and said nothing.

“Here,” Cody said, eventually, leaning into his field of vision and taking one of his hands, putting a cup of tea against his palm. Obi-Wan curled his fingers around it automatically. “Drink this.”

Obi-Wan held it, barely feeling the warmth, and said, through his numb lips, “Thank you.”

Cody made a little sound of acknowledgement and, after a moment’s hesitation, sat beside Obi-Wan. He had a cup of his own, the steam writhing up around them, like the smoke off the tip of a blaster, or the charr off of a lightsaber wound--

Obi-Wan reached out and put the tea cup down on his table before any of the liquid sloshed out with the sudden trembling of his hand. “Oh,” he said, staring at his own hand, “Would you look at that?” He laughed, just a bit, shaky, the sound cutting off when Cody reached out and took his hand, fingers so warm and steady, not shaking at all.

“We’ve been worried about you,” Cody said, his voice thick and quiet. Obi-Wan wondered who “we” was, as he stared at their hands. Cody’s fingers were thicker than his own, and almost as callused after a few years of constant battle. He had strong hands. A warrior’s hands. Capable. “I appreciated the message, but what the kriff were you doing on  _ Mandalore _ ?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, mouth curving into a smile that held no joy, no hint of gladness. “Satine - the Duchess - asked for my help.” He closed his eyes, though it only brought him the image of her face, the trust in her eyes, misplaced utterly when she gave it to him. “I thought I could…” His throat closed, words strangled by emotion.

Cody’s hand on his back was a comfort, warm and broad, stealing away some of the cold that had suffused him. When he spoke, he sounded hesitant, a strange tone to hear from him. “I...why would she ask for your help?”

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. It was a good question, though probably not for the reason Cody meant. Why Satine had thought he would be able to help her was a mystery, one she’d taken to the grave. He worked his jaw, trying to find the words, and said, seeing no reason not to spill the admissions between them, “Because we knew one another. When we were young.” He swallowed, heavily. “We loved each other, a very long time ago.” 

Cody stiffened. “Oh,” he said, sounding far away, his emotions doing something strange as his grip tightened. “Why didn’t you stay with her?”

Obi-Wan’s vision had gone blurry. He recognized the symptoms of tears unshed, waiting for the right moment to fall. He cleared his throat. “We had different responsibilities,” he said, staring at the far wall. “And she didn’t want me.” She’d loved him. But she hadn’t wanted him.

He  _ felt  _ the shift in Cody’s emotions, but couldn’t pick it apart, not even as he said, “That--she must, I’m sure she--”

“She’s dead,” Obi-Wan cut in, all at once, just wanting the words out and done. Spoken into being and reality. “He killed her in front of me and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. She’s dead. I didn’t help her at all.” She had been, perhaps, right all those years ago, not to want him, when he thought about it. He felt the first hot trails of tears down his cheeks but lacked the energy to do anything about them.

He felt, too, the twisting spiral of Cody’s emotions; there were too many of them for Obi-Wan to process in his current frame of mind. Cody asked, hoarse, “Who? Who killed her?”

“Maul,” Obi-Wan felt his mouth twist around the name. Maul, who had killed Master Jinn in front of him, as well. Maul, whose brother had slaughtered sweet Adi. Maul, who should have stayed dead, instead of rising to continue wreaking havoc among the stars. “And he’s still on Mandalore. Still doing damage. I couldn’t stop him, and…” 

And he ached, inside, for all of the Mandalorians. For everyone unfortunate enough to have their well-being placed in Maul’s hands. There was a core of cold inside of him as he admitted, into the quiet, “And I have a son there. Somewhere.”

“What?” Cody tugged at him, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and turning him, cursing abruptly and then pulling up the sheets, wiping at Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan grabbed his hand, stilling him, even as he slid his gaze to the side, nodding. “Her son,” he said, quietly. “I gave him up when I was--young. To a loving family. I’ve no idea if he’s alive or dead.” The cold in his heart slid deeper. He should have asked Satine about the boy, should have found out if she’d gotten Korkie and his family offworld. He should have -- 

“Maul could have him, for all I know.” He swallowed convulsively, trying to get rid of the taste of bile in his mouth. “But - but he shouldn’t care. He has no way of knowing the boy is mine.”

He could not picture what the child would look like in his mind’s eye. He would have been almost a man, not the infant Obi-Wan remembered. He wondered if the boy’s hair had stayed pale, if his eyes had remained clear and blue. He--

“Kriff,” Cody grunted, sounding gutted. He took his hand off of Obi-Wan’s shoulder and then put it back, squeezing. “Do you - should we change course?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, the question dragging him out of the spiral of his freezing thoughts. He asked, through the chill, “What?”

“To go to Mandalore,” Cody said, his gaze averted towards the far wall and a muscle in his jaw jumping. “To find your son.”

Obi-Wan considered that option, for a moment. There was a certain hot appeal in the idea of taking the  _ Negotiator  _ and going to handle Maul, to bring him to justice for what he’d done, all the deaths he’d caused, to finding his son and--

And he shook his head. “We’re needed at Yoilpare. General Secura is waiting for us.” The Council had given specific orders. He would not take his men, his ship,  _ his  _ own abilities, away from where they were needed. He’d risked himself, before. But he’d not risk anyone else. “They’re counting on us. We have a responsibility to them.”

Millions of lives hung in the balance. He could not set those aside for his personal aches. Besides, he considered, grimly, nothing good had ever come of him going to Mandalore.

Cody said nothing for a long moment, and then nodded. “Alright,” he said. He felt… closed off, through the Force. As though he were focusing on suppressing his own emotions, the way he sometimes did during a battle. He said, “I’m - I’m very sorry, sir. For what you lost.”

Obi-Wan nodded. It felt like all he could manage. The “sir” felt odd and out of place between them in his quarters, while they were sitting on his  _ bunk _ , where they’d spent his last heat, but he lacked the energy to question it. He’d been “Obi-Wan” for a long time, when they were alone. He sat, staring at nothing, exhaustion beating down all the barricades in his head.

He was vaguely aware of his head dropping sideways, of the tired weight of so much loss pulling down at him. He knew he ought to straighten up, but Cody’s armor was familiar and his scent warm.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes without intending to do so. When he woke, he was lying curled on his bunk, his blankets pulled up over him. He felt leaden, lying there, alone in the dark room. He marshalled the energy to sit, to scrub at his face, and to shove to his feet.

There was a war to be fought. The safety of the galaxy hung in the balance.

That was all, really, that mattered.

His hurts, in the grand scheme of things, were so small.

#

They helped Aayla over Yoilpare, arriving in time to prevent the destruction of her battle cruiser. The battle was a near thing, but, lately, it felt like all of their victories were close, secured more through bloody determination than anything else.

They stayed alongside Aayla’s ship, after the fight, assisting with repairs. A half-dozen levels had suffered breaches, open to atmosphere after the firefight. Limping along back to the shipyards for repairs would be almost impossible in the ship’s present condition.

Obi-Wan mostly helped with the repairs by staying out of the way. He’d never had the head for mechanics and thought it likely a pity that Anakin wasn’t there, instead half-way across the Rim with the  _ Peacemaker _ . Still, the entire process gave a fair percentage of the troopers a chance for some well-earned downtime, at least between repair shifts.

Obi-Wan approved as much leave down to the planet’s surface - peaceful enough now that the Separatists had gone - as he could. It was a small thing, a tiny bit of time to unwind and perhaps not worry about dying, but it was all he could do for them, besides trying to keep them alive.

He noticed, on the third day of their orbit, that Cody had skipped his transport down to the planet for the second time. Obi-Wan tapped his fingers on the pad where the information scrolled - reported by the shuttle pilot - and sighed. 

Cody deserved a break just as much as their men. More, most likely, so much of the burden of command fell on him, especially when Obi-Wan was pulled across the galaxy on this mission or the other. Still, Obi-Wan should have expected that he would try to stay and get more work done. Obi-Wan would have to speak with him about it.

He sighed and stood, setting aside a half-drank cup of caff and going to find his erstwhile Commander. 

He located Cody over on the  _ Restitution _ , which seemed odd. Cody hadn’t been slated for a shift of repair work. He made his way through the halls of the ship; so similar to the  _ Negotiator _ , but not exactly the same. The  _ Restitution  _ was a newer model. The  _ Negotiator _ was one of the few original battle cruisers to make it so long into the war - she was the  _ oldest _ , all told - a fact that he knew the 212th took a certain pride in.

He had to admit, he preferred the sharper, starker lines of the  _ Negotiator _ . The ship had started to feel like home. He knew all the little imperfections along the halls, knew the stories behind each repair that had left behind paneling of a different color. They’d sweated and bled and wept within the  _ Negotiator _ , and she’d carried them all through so much.

She was as much a part of the 212th as his troopers. As he was.

Obi-Wan shook those thoughts aside as he followed directions from troopers here and there, towards where they’d seen Cody last. The sound of soft voices - troopers, speaking together - floated out to him before he found his Commander. He heard Cody, feeling his presence in the Force, as he said, “--just different for you.”

The other trooper - Bly, Obi-Wan recognized his Force-signature, if for no other reason than the impression it had left on Aayla’s - sighed, and said, “I don’t see  _ why _ . I’m telling you, you need to just talk to him. Really spell it out. Get explicit. They need that.”

Cody snorted, and Obi-Wan wondered who they were talking about, taking another step and preparing to clear his throat. Eavesdropping was inappropriate, and he knew it. Before he could, Cody said, “He’s  _ grieving _ the kriffing love of his life, Bly.”

“You said  _ you  _ were the kriffing love of his life last time we talked,” Bly said, dry, and Obi-Wan’s heart lurched with a sudden, sharp agony. 

Cody sounded tired when he spoke again. He felt  _ hurt _ , inside. “Maybe he’s just the love of  _ my  _ life.” 

Bly made a soft, dismissive sound. “Look, I know you wanted to wait until after this was all… done, but just set aside regs for two clicks and kriffing  _ tell him  _ how you feel. Use your words. I did with Aayla.”

He heard Cody, though his voice seemed to come from far away, his tone gone sharper, “He’s not Aayla, damnit. The last thing he needs from me right now is pushing to--”

And Obi-Wan did clear his throat, then, because he obviously was not meant to be privy to whoever they were discussing. He ignored the sharp pang in his chest, a slicing kind of agony, but one long expected. He’d known this was coming. Every step he’d taken closer to Cody, he’d known how things would end.

So, there was someone Cody cared for, someone he harboured feelings for, someone grieving, but that hardly narrowed it down. The entire galaxy was in mourning, the grief and hurt echoing out from countless worlds, staining every tendril of the Force. 

Obi-Wan had always known Cody would… find someone else. Or at least grow tired of assisting him. Everyone else did. He’d gotten more than he’d dared to hope for from their arrangement. And he’d not begrudge Cody developing feelings, actual affection, for someone else. He just hoped the other person realized how lucky he was.

Cody was a good man.

Perhaps the best Obi-Wan had ever known.

Around the corner, Cody and Bly went quiet, and Obi-Wan stepped forward, working to ensure his mouth was twisted into a smile. “Commander,” he said, brightly, leaning against the door frame, “you skipped your transport.”

“Sir,” Cody said, holding a cup of caff and staring at him wide-eyed. Bly, sitting across from him, kicked him under the table. “I didn’t skip it, I gave up my place to Fracture. He needed the time planetside more than I do.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, focusing on keeping his tone even. He’d had long practice with either handling his emotions or - when necessary - pretending they weren’t an issue. “I happen to disagree. There’s another transport leaving soon. I expect you to be on it. You need some R and R, too.” 

“With respect,” Cody said, frowning over at him, “I haven’t seen your name on any of the transport lists.” Bly was attempting to hide his expression behind his cup, but it was too small to do much good. Obi-Wan wondered what was so kriffing funny.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “My stress levels are fine,” he said. “I’ve got reading to catch up on, you know.” He flashed a wider smile and pushed away from the doorframe, planning to go back to the  _ Negotiator _ and, perhaps, meditate. He could use some extra bunk time, as well, if his mind decided not to plague him with nightmares.

“That’s not the opinion of your Commander,” Cody said, before he could go far, and Obi-Wan blinked back at him. 

He said, without thinking, “Pardon me?”

Cody stood, setting down his cup and squaring his shoulders. “You need rest as much as we do. Rest  _ off  _ of the  _ Negotiator _ .” Obi-Wan opened his mouth. “I don’t mean getting off the ship to fight, sir. We’re not going anywhere for a few more days. You should take a shift planetside, just like the rest of us.”

And, really, Obi-Wan thoroughly wanted the conversation to end. He wanted to go back to his bunk and not think about Cody telling someone else  _ how he felt _ . Besides, it was a fair enough point. He could admit that. He nodded. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll sign up for a shift.” He turned once more.

“I heard there’s an open space on the next transport,” Cody said, jaw set and stubborn.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest that he  _ certainly  _ wasn’t going to take Cody’s spot, and Bly said, brightly, as he stood, “You should  _ both _ go. Now.  _ Together _ . We’re sending transports down, too, and I know there’s space available. I’ll get it arranged.” And he all but darted through the door, leaving Obi-Wan to frown after him.

“I don’t know what he thinks he’s--” Obi-Wan started, and stopped as the ship lurched, warning alarms going off everywhere. “Kriff!” he snapped, because the Separatists  _ would  _ attack while they were in the middle of repairs. “Come on!” he called over his shoulder as he sprinted down the hall, towards the bridge.

They won the battle, but it was another too-close thing.

And there were no more trips planetside, afterwards.

#

Obi-Wan tried not to let his thoughts linger on whoever Cody had found to care for, over the coming days. The constant grind of the war helped with that. The ache of his heart passed, even without the time to properly meditate, shoved to the side by casualty lists and impossible orders. Besides, he was more concerned with Cody’s hurt, which radiated out at him at odd moments, cutting like a knife, each time.

Days turned to weeks turned to months, and Obi-Wan stopped thinking about it, mostly. They still worked perfectly well together, but, then, they always had. They still shared meals, still - still comforted one another, after the worst battles. Obi-Wan still chased Cody’s foul dreams away, when he could.

There was no reason that would change, he supposed. He’d just need to find someone else to help with his next heat, but he had plenty of experience with that.

He wished it was so easy to convince his unconscious mind. He started having dreams, in the scant time he got to sleep. They weren’t the nightmares he’d gotten used to handling. Instead, he dreamed about things that left his blood hot and simmering, that left him panting when he woke up, cock hard and slick smeared on his skin.

He’d not had such dreams for years, not since he was a much younger man. The embarrassment that came with them was not enough to stop them, unfortunately. He dreamed, wedged into his uncomfortable bunk, of having a warm body beside him, of kisses across his shoulders and hands on his skin, familiar fingers curled around his cock, stroking easy and sure, and he always woke up before he could spill across the sheets. 

Obi-Wan did not have to see his bed partner in the dream to recognize the feel of Cody’s hands, the warmth of his skin, or the shape of his mouth. He knew perfectly well who he dreamed of, and the dreams only grew more explicit regarding his partner as the weeks slipped past.

He dreamed, one night, of Cody sprawled on his back, his eyes wide and his lips parted as Obi-Wan kissed his stomach, moving lower. Obi-Wan knew the shape and heft of Cody’s cock; his mind was happy to supply the memories.

Some things it made up. He’d never put his mouth on Cody’s cock - he’d never done such a thing for  _ anyone _ , alphas around an omega in heat generally didn’t want to slide into a  _ mouth  _ \- but it felt so real in the dream, the weight on his tongue, the stretch of his lips, and the thick, pleased sounds Cody made.

In his dream, Obi-Wan slid his fingers around Cody’s cock, slick from his saliva, and felt him shaking, felt the stretch of his skin as his knot swelled, like Obi-Wan’s touch was enough to do such a thing to him, even outside of a heat, like he wanted--

Obi-Wan woke up as the Cody in his dream cried his name, jerking upright, only noticing after a moment that he was actually receiving a comm from the Cody of the waking world, who… who wanted someone else. Who’d never want Obi-Wan’s mouth on him.

Obi-Wan ignored that throb of his cock, ignored the ache in his chest, and said, “Yes, Commander, what’s the problem?”

#

The sense of loss for something he’d never really had faded into the background of his mind by the time he ended up on Coruscant for a few days. Anakin and Ahsoka were there at the same time, something that had grown rarer as the war dragged on.

Anakin had, unsurprisingly, disappeared almost as soon as they reached the surface. Obi-Wan wondered how Senator Amidala was doing, snorting and shaking his head. He went down to one of the fountain rooms and meditated, went to his quarters and slept in a bed that no longer felt like his, and would have gone to breakfast the next morning, had he not sensed Ahsoka outside his door before the sun rose, radiating upset and agitation.

Obi-Wan spared a moment to blink at the ceiling, rubbed his face, and rolled from the comfort of his mattress. He found Ahsoka standing with her head bowed, her shoulders curled forward, and something held tight in her hand.

“Ahsoka,” he said, quietly, taking in the tight downward twist of her mouth and the paled colors of her montrals. “You’re up early.”

She jerked out a small little nod and extended her hand towards him, her fingers uncurling, slowly, as she did. She said, as he took in the object in her palm - small and metallic and horrible, “You know what this is.”

“A detonator,” he said, feeling cold all over, all at once. His voice stayed steady more from force of habit than anything else. “What are you doing with it?”

She swallowed, noisily, and said, “Can I come in? Please, Master.”

He’d already eased a step back, giving her room to enter. She shuffled into the room and over to his couch, sitting on it and pulling her legs up under her. He stared at her for a moment and said, “Tea?”

“Please,” she said, arms curling around her legs, and he went into the kitchenette, sending soothing emotions towards her in the Force while he worked. He brought a blanket, when he returned, and wrapped it around her shoulders before handing her the tea. She held it with both hands, staring down into the liquid, making no attempt to drink.

After a moment, he sat beside her, and asked, “Where’d you get a detonator like that, Ahsoka?”

She hunched further into herself and said, quietly, “I found it.”

Obi-Wan reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the roil of her emotions through the Force. “You found it where?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, mouth twisting. “Some warehouse. Down in the lower levels.”

He drew on reserves of calm he felt sorely lacking, so early in the morning. She didn’t need to be snapped at, he didn’t need the Force to tell that. He kept his voice quiet, “What were you doing in the lower levels?”

She was quiet, for a long, long moment. When she spoke, though, her voice was steady. “I was supposed to meet Barriss. We were going to go to a place she found. Somewhere quiet. But she didn’t show up. So I...went looking for her. And she seemed…. Off. When I found her. So I, I followed her, Master.”

Obi-Wan had a frozen feeling in his gut, spreading and terrible. “She found the warehouse?” he asked, wanting to believe.

Ahsoka shook her head. “No. She knew it was there. She - there was other stuff in there, too. Explosives.”

“What are they for?” Obi-Wan asked, hoping for a reasonable explanation, hoping it was some plan the Council hadn’t shared, some order handed down by Luminara… The expression on Ahsoka’s face, desolate, told him otherwise.

“It’s… she was going to…” Ahsoka swallowed hard, looking to the side. “It’s awful.” She shuddered, all over. Obi-Wan believed her.

“Where is she now?” he asked, thoughts running forward. “How did you get back, does she know that--”

“She’s in my quarters,” Ahsoka cut in, taking a gulping swallow of her tea as Obi-Wan gaped at her. “I--we talked, after I found her. We talked for a long time, about what she was going to do and why. And - and she’s not going to do it anymore. We’ve already turned in the explosives, Master, I promise.”

Obi-Wan said, “Well, that’s good news,” and she winced a little at his tone. He sighed, reached for the Force, and squeezed her shoulder. “You did a good job to help your friend, Ahsoka, I’m--”

“She’s not just my friend,” Ahsoka blurted out, and some color came back into her cheeks, finally. She met his gaze with shining eyes, the tips of her lekku curling up, nearly to her shoulders. “She’s--it’s more than that. And - and even after what she almost did, it’s more than that, but she’s - she’s in a bad place right now. She doesn’t see a way out of this war and she feels like it’s changing us. The Jedi. What we’re supposed to be and what we’re supposed to do. And…” she trailed off, looking to the side again, mouth twisted in the corners.

Obi-Wan sat in silence for a moment, turning all she had said over, and spoke carefully, in the end. “Ahsoka,” he said, “why did you come to me and not to Anakin?”

She scoffed, blinking several times and dragging one wrist across her eyes. “Well,” she said, “first, because Force knows he’s probably not even in the Temple. There are some things I don’t want to see. And, and second…” She twisted her fingers into her skirt. “Second, I know how he’d react if I asked him about leaving the Temple. For a while.”

Obi-Wan’s breath caught for a moment, but he recovered quickly. He said, dry, “Yes, I can imagine.” She nodded, looking over at him, anxiety written all over her expression.

“I’ve always felt like I had two Masters, you know,” she said. “And - and, just, Master, I know we’re at war, but - but the truth is I never wanted to fight a war to begin with. We’re supposed to be peacekeepers. And I - what Barriss thought about doing, it was wrong. But not everything she  _ thinks  _ is wrong.”

Obi-Wan exhaled and leaned back against the couch. “Anakin understands disagreeing with the way the Order does things.” 

“Not about leaving,” she said, looking over with big, shining eyes. “He thinks everyone should just… stay. And I think…” She swirled what little remained of her tea and put the cup down. “I think Barriss and I need to go. For a little while.”

The cold in Obi-Wan’s chest spread a little further, but he nodded. The Order had never tried to  _ make  _ anyone stay. “I hope,” he said, looking for the words, trying to swallow down the ache in his throat, “I hope that you find what you’re looking for, then. And that you are not gone long.”

She made a rough sound, jerking forward to wrap both arms around him, mashing her face against his shoulder. He curled an arm around her and held her as well, tilting his face up and blinking away the stinging in his eyes. “I knew you’d understand,” she said, voice muffled by his robes.

He stroked her back and said, “You still need to tell Anakin.”

She sighed, nodding a little. “I know,” she said. “I know. But you’ll… you’ll come with me, won’t you?” And she felt like his Padawan, as well. She always had. So he nodded. He’d always stand with her, when she needed him.

#

They ended up speaking with Anakin on the steps of the Temple. Obi-Wan stayed back, giving them privacy, but providing his presence just in case. They both reached out to him, during the conversation, their signatures in the Force calling to him, looking for reassurance and for comfort.

He gave it, as much as he could, feeling their joint anguish when Ahsoka detached her Padawan beads and placed them, gently, in Anakin’s hand. She looked up the stairs, towards where Obi-Wan stood, as she turned away and started down the stairs.

Obi-Wan’s heart hurt as she climbed into the transport below. He knew perfectly well that Barriss was already inside. Waiting. Obi-Wan swallowed, the hurt suffusing through him, but he knew how to function through pain. He took a breath and walked down the steps to stand beside Anakin, who looked over at him with blank eyes.

Anakin felt flayed, torn to pieces, emotions yet unsettled on a reaction. Threads of hurt and anger wound through him, waiting to crystalize. Obi-Wan put a hand on his back, pushing comfort at him, and Anakin shivered, rasping, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, grateful for the other Jedi passing, who were studiously giving them a wide berth. He tried to nudge Anakin forward a few steps, but he seemed rooted in place. “Sometimes people need to leave the Order. We’ve always understood that.”

“But…” Anakin looked over at him, eyes wet and shining. “But she was going to be a Jedi.”

Something tremendous and huge moved through the undercurrent of Anakin’s emotions. Obi-Wan noted it and said, carefully, “Not everyone  _ wants  _ to be a Jedi, Anakin. There’s no shame in taking a different path.”

Anakin stared at him, shuddered, and then jerked his gaze away, his fingers curling shut around Ahsoka’s beads. His hand trembled, just a little, and Obi-Wan sighed. Philosophical discussions about the choices of various Force users over the years could wait. He stepped closer, put his other hand on Anakin’s shoulder and said, “But I think she’ll come back. She just needs to find what she’s looking for, first.”

“I don’t see how you can be so calm about someone just - just leaving. Going away, maybe forever,” Anakin snapped, looking up, his eyes afire all at once.

There was a bitter taste on Obi-Wan’s tongue when he curled up one side of his mouth and said, “I’m not so young as you are, Anakin. People have left me before.” He wondered, when, exactly, Cody would finish leaving him. “You can’t stop that, can’t control what people do. You can only choose what you do while they’re with you.”

The sparking anger in Anakin’s expression morphed as he spoke, into a kind of flustered horror. Anakin turned his face to the side, nodded, swallowing hard, and said, changing the subject all at once, “I thought I’d… go see Dal-Voe.” He glanced at Obi-Wan, gaze hopeful and shuttered all at once.

Obi-Wan, exhausted, but feeling Anakin’s need, smiled with what strength he could scrape together and said, “A wonderful idea. I’ll go with you.” Anakin smiled at him, hesitantly, and walked at his side through the Temple, not even trying to speed his steps along, perhaps grown past the urge to show that he could keep up, could lead, always and wherever he went.

They were almost to the crèche by the time Anakin stretched his fingers out, brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s hand as they walked. He said, his voice hoarse, “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You don’t need--”

“No.” Anakin slid his hand up, fingers curled loosely around Obi-Wan’s wrist, tugging him to a stop. Obi-Wan blinked at him, but Anakin was looking to the side, his mouth curved down harshly. “I do. I know I haven’t always listened to you, or… Just. Thank you.” And so Obi-Wan only nodded, and, a moment later Anakin exhaled and moved forwards again, his demeanor changing as they entered the crèche and both Dal-Voe and Cody looked over at them.

Dal-Voe laughed, delighted, springing up from where she’d been settled in Cody’s lap. She hit Obi-Wan like a small missile, arms curled around his knees as she beamed up at him. He bent and lifted her, something easing in his chest as she rubbed her cheek against his and then went boneless, all at once, in his arms with a happy noise.

He leaned his head against hers, turning to see if Anakin wanted to hold her, to find him frowning over at Cody, who had stood, brushing himself off. Anakin felt all made of sharp edges again, and Obi-Wan sighed.

Anakin bristled, and Obi-Wan thought, perhaps, they’d argue again, but Anakin’s comm went off at that moment. He made his goodbyes, only a few beats later, claiming that the Chancellor needed to speak with him.

He felt frozen when he turned and marched, stiff-shouldered, from the crèche.

Obi-Wan ached inside as Cody stepped up beside him, reaching out, after a moment, to touch his back, agony flaring sudden and sharp within him. Obi-Wan leaned back against him, trying to offer comfort, Dal-Voe making a pleased, humming sound and shifting. Cody asked, “Everything alright?”

Obi-Wan sighed, glanced over at him, and shook his head. He could barely recall a time when everything  _ had  _ been alright. But there, in the crèche, for a few hours before they were called away again, he could almost pretend that  _ some  _ things were.

#

Cody was not the only trooper who had found someone to care for over the stretch of the war. Obi-Wan noticed when the emotions of his men changed, picked up their affections and their connections. He watched them gather little gifts, he noted the comm traffic as they sent messages back to those they left behind.

And, when they fell, he watched their brothers gather up their things, watched them send grimmer news back across the stars, to the people who cared for them. Obi-Wan hoped someone knew exactly who Cody’s heart belonged to, but he could not bring himself to ask.

Cody’s behavior around him had not changed, as he developed feelings for… someone else. He remained professional, nothing but excellent at his job. But, then, why should anything change? 

Cody had helped him during a few trying times. That was all it had ever been.

Obi-Wan waited for the ache inside of him to fade. It would, with time, he knew. It always did.

It had not by the time they arrived on Quells. It was just another world, one more in a long line of planets of some strategic value. Obi-Wan had stopped trying to figure out  _ why  _ the Separatists wanted to take it. It took enough effort to figure out how to protect the inhabitants, how to keep his men safe, how to drag a victory out of odds stacked so high against him he couldn’t see over them.

Things went poorly from the time they made planetfall, but none of the weary marches or long battles prepared him for the sudden exclamations of shock and alarm one night, nearly a week after they arrived on-planet.

Obi-Wan stumbled out of his tent while still half-asleep, into a mass of confusion. He expected blaster bolts to be raining down on them, or an airborne bombing. Neither of those things seemed to be happening, and he kept his saber turned off, not wanting to hurt anyone in the sudden confusion.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, grabbing a trooper in passing.

“The clankers brought down a dam,” Cody snapped in answer, coming up at his other side at a run. “One of the boys spotted it by accident.”

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan swore, looking around. There was, perhaps, the remnants of a long dry river bed not far away. They were in a land of canyons, caught between high walls. “How far away?” he asked, already hearing the rumble on the horizon.

“Not far enough for it to dissipate before it reaches us,” Cody said, grim, and Obi-Wan could hear shouts on the borders of the camp, cries of alarm rising sharp in the air. The dam had, as near as he remembered, held back a small  _ sea _ . Cody gripped his arm as Obi-Wan’s thoughts sped along and he said, suddenly closer, intent, “You need to go. Now. You’re fast enough to get away from it, and--”

“I’ll not leave any of you behind,” Obi-Wan cut in, frowning at Cody and tugging his arm free. He pushed forward, through the crowded troopers, so many of them murmuring prayers, calling on the Force, towards the cacophony of sound rushing towards them.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody snapped, the sudden use of his name drawing Obi-Wan up short. Cody’s expression was anguished, eyes wide under the star light. He’d caught Obi-Wan’s hand, squeezing. “ _ Please _ . Don’t die here.”

Obi-Wan looked away from him, away from the thought of his face, wiped clear of all expression. He could too easily imagine the scattering of bodies across the ground after the water passed, loose-limbed and with swollen skin. “No one is going to die here,” Obi-Wan said, fighting to keep his voice level as he squeezed Cody’s hand, let go, and pushed his way forward.

The water was a wall, dark and storming towards them, twisting between the sides of the canyon system, furious and utterly without care for them. There were already things caught in it, tumbled by the great power of the water. Obi-Wan stepped past the last trooper, taking a steading breath and setting his feet.

“I need everyone to be quiet,” he said, without looking back, “if you’d be so kind.”

And he sank into the Force that surrounded all of them, mind going quiet and empty. The wall of water rushing towards them was only water, only individual components, no more than a splash in the grand scheme of things.

It did not matter the size of the thing you tried to move with the Force. It only mattered if you had the will to move it.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and lifted his hands.

Spray from the water fell across his cheeks and the bare skin of his hands as it thundered by, splitting before his feet. He did not  _ try  _ to make it move. As Master Yoda was fond of saying, there was no trying with the Force. 

He  _ made  _ it move, made the wild, raging once-a-sea split, the water surging up over the top of the canyon walls as it looked for a new path to take, curling over his head, roaring past and past and past. There was so much of it, the flood felt like it would never end, but it did, finally, and sooner than it should have done.

He wondered, vaguely, if someone further up the path had stopped it. That seemed a very distant concern as he opened his eyes. Everything around him was wet and dripping, but the sand under his feet was dry. He got a much closer look at it when one of his knees gave, the universe exacting the cost of what he’d done.

There was a cost for everything, after all.

But he wouldn’t have to find out who Cody had loved, to send them an apology. He would not live while his men struggled and drowned. They were one with the Force, and… and the Force  _ was  _ with them. That was a comfort as his other knee hit the sand, his head spinning as the world tried to turn upside down.

Obi-Wan thought, with what remained of his ability to do so, that he would like to lay down. He fell sideways, and hands caught at him before he hit the sand, familiar and sure, holding him up while someone yelled his name.

“Cody,” he said, softly, blinking up into familiar eyes, smiling, “don’t die here.” He reached a hand up, managing to fit his palm to Cody’s cheek, watching his mouth move around words Obi-Wan wasn’t hearing anymore. And he closed his eyes, because he was incredibly tired, really, and blackness came up to take him to a cool, empty place.

#

The fighting on Quells was over by the time Obi-Wan recovered. Apparently, blowing up the dam had been a last-ditch effort by the Separatists to cause as much damage as they could on their way off-world.

Anakin and the 501st had managed to redirect the water before it overwhelmed Obi-Wan’s control. They’d also destroyed what was left of the Separatist forces. Obi-Wan heard all about it in the in medbay of the  _ Negotiator _ , submitting to the medic’s questions and tests.

He’d protested at first, but after Bones had made him look in a mirror at the aftereffects of his actions - the burst blood vessels in the sclera of his eyes gave him an awful look - he’d given in. Cody provided most of the information, lingering often in the medbay after their discussions, before he was called away to see to his duties.

Bones shook his head, after Cody left the first day, and said, voice low and tone confiding, “I had to chase him out of here to make him sleep, you know. While you were out.”

Obi-Wan blinked, thoughts still moving more slowly than he appreciated. “Oh?” he asked. “Why was that?”

Bones gave him a look, snorted, and shook his head. “You need more rest,” he said, and, when Obi-Wan opened his mouth, he added, “Doctor’s orders.” And Obi-Wan’s dreams that night were disordered, confusing things, all full of water and drowning people, those he cared about slowly slipping away, disappearing into the water, until hands caught at him, pulling him close, into a kiss that started as an attempt to push air into his lungs.

In the dream, he no longer cared about drowning, which was fine, because the water seemed to have all gone, replaced by an ocean of blankets. He gasped for breath for a different reason, breathing raggedly against Cody’s mouth, holding onto him as he shifted and moved and--

And Obi-Wan woke panting at the ceiling, relieved, distantly, that neither Bones nor any of his brothers were anywhere to be found. Still, he insisted on returning to his own rooms, refusing to spend another night in the medbay.

The dream he sat aside, embarrassed with his own mind for engaging in such indulgences, for taking something Cody didn’t want to give him, even unconsciously. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, HERE WE ARE. This is the final chapter. Epilogue to follow shortly. Thank you all so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed the ride!

The war continued to warp the galaxy, the death tolls climbing relentlessly higher, no matter how hard they worked, how much they bled, how desperately they fought. Obi-Wan grew used to the ache of death and horror; it was hard to think past it, to remember what joy or sweetness even  _ felt  _ like.

He tried to meditate, to clear away some of the agony sleeting through his head and his heart, but there was so little  _ time _ . When they weren’t fighting, he tried to sleep, tried to let his battered body recover.

It grew harder and harder to get out of his bunk again, when he woke. Sometimes he couldn’t even sleep, just… staring across at the far wall while his head buzzed. He considered just staying where he was, more frequently with each day, just not moving again. He had no more left to give, but…. 

His men needed him. The galaxy needed him.

And so he’d roll out of his bed and pull his robes on with numb fingers, turn his lightsaber over in his hands, and go out. Battles and downtime smeared together, a background to the death that he breathed in and exhaled.

The war had picked them all to pieces, torn all the soft pieces of them to shreds. Obi-Wan considered, some cold nights, curled on his bunk, that it had moved on to cracking bones, trying to get at the marrow inside, scraping the last pieces of them off.

He kept getting up, anyway. The alternative was letting  _ more  _ people die, and he couldn’t do that. He saved those he could, put himself bodily between his men and explosions when possible, and he hoped, vaguely, that maybe things would, eventually, just stop.

Even death, he considered, standing on another battlefield, swaying with hurt and exhaustion, would be a stillness. A blackness and a chance to stop moving. It had always been wildly unfair that he’d survived while so many others died, anyway.

“Sir?” Cody said, touching his elbow and dragging his thoughts back from the edge they’d teetered on. “You alright?” Obi-Wan blinked over at him, his eyes stinging with sweat and blood, and found no energy to reply. “You’re wanted on the left flank,” Cody said, like an apology, and Obi-Wan nodded, swallowed the ache in his throat, and went.

#

Obi-Wan did not see Ahsoka for months after she left the Order, but he never completely lost the connection he’d forged with her, even on the bleakest nights. It remained, a presence always in the back of his mind, letting him know that she lived. That knowledge was precious, increasingly so as so many others died.

Obi-Wan saw her again, finally, in a crowded hangar bay, with Bo-Katan of all people, and the entire conversation tore at the open wound inside his chest, the sting of Satine’s death still so close to the surface. It had been months - he was close to another heat, somehow - but the wound had not healed. 

Mandalore’s problems were boiling over, once again, it seemed. This time, Obi-Wan resisted the urge to run in to put out the fires. He’d never done a very good job of it, anyway. And, apparently, the Chancellor had managed to get himself kidnapped.

Something in his chest ached, when Ahsoka agreed to go to Mandalore to help. He hoped, viscerally, that she had better luck on-planet than he ever had. She hesitated for a moment after Bo-Katan stormed off, looking from Obi-Wan to Anakin, her eyes clear and sharp. Guardedly hopeful.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, giving Anakin time to wrestle with the emotions raging in his chest, and said, “How is Barriss?”

Ahsoka’s cheeks darkened to a deeper orange, but she kept her gaze steady. “She’s doing better. We’ve been, you know, helping people out. But.” She swallowed. “She’s not going to help with this. She needs… more time.”

“Do you need more time?” Anakin asked, so much yearning in his voice that Obi-Wan didn’t need to feel it in the Force. He eased back one step and then another, allowing them to speak privately, monitoring the flare and shift of their emotions to ensure they weren’t going to argue with one another.

Anakin was quiet and reserved when he finally left her, but there was a fierce, hot flame of hope burning under his silence, something Obi-Wan saw in his eyes. It had been difficult, he knew, for Anakin to resist following her, trying to convince her to come back at every turn. Her loss had become almost a physical presence, always lingering by Anakin’s side.

Obi-Wan shook those thoughts aside. Ahsoka might make her way back to them, soon. He hoped she would. But that was a hope to consider  _ after  _ they rescued the Chancellor from whatever problems he’d gotten himself into currently.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to turn their ships around when Ahsoka contacted him over the course of her mission with word of Maul and all he had done. He had his duties, and they were far from Mandalore. Coruscant called. He had no choice but to answer.

#

Obi-Wan would never have imagined, a few years ago, that he’d see attack fleets over Coruscant. Their presence felt dreamlike - or perhaps nightmarish - as he cut through droid ships, feeling the anxiety of billions of people below.

The Core worlds felt different than those in the Rim. They’d avoided the worst of the war. Lucky.

Obi-Wan wondered, distantly, if they’d be so happy to continue the bloodshed if they’d gotten even a taste of it… He shook those thoughts away, focusing on the battle and the flight, concentration ever more difficult to muster. He bantered back and forth with Anakin on auto-pilot.

They did manage to save the Chancellor, somehow. Obi-Wan ended up unconscious for most of the affair. Apparently, they’d come quite close to capturing Dooku, as well. Anakin had - it seemed - lost track of him when the ship started to go down.

“I couldn’t hold you, watch the Chancellor,  _ and  _ guard Dooku. I don’t know where he ran off to,” Anakin said, after they made their fiery descent to Coruscant, picking their way out through the wreckage of the huge ship, the Chancellor limping along a step or two behind them. 

Obi-Wan nearly suggested that leaving  _ him  _ behind would have been the wiser decision in those circumstances. He’d thought he was dead, anyway, when Dooku pulled half the bridge down on him. There’d been… almost a relief to the idea. He wouldn’t have to keep fighting, if Anakin had left him to burn on re-entry.

Still, he knew well enough how that would go over with Anakin. He only nodded and said, “Well, the odds that he made it off the ship safely are… rather low, anyway. Droids will look through the wreckage. See if they can find his body.”

Anakin winced a bit. “Hey,” he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone, “I got her landed, didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh, wincing when it tugged at all the injuries across his back and ribs. It turned out that getting a bridge dropped on you  _ hurt _ . He should have known that it would. Everything else did. “You did an excellent job, as always. And rescued the Chancellor.” He twisted to nod at the man, flashing him a smile.

Palpatine seemed grim - frustrated - for a man who’d just been rescued from certain death, but smiled after a moment. Obi-Wan let his own smile fall as he turned back, wincing a little as they climbed over a pile of rubble.

“Here,” Anakin said, gruff, moving closer and pulling one of Obi-Wan’s arms over his shoulders. “Let me help you.” And Obi-Wan would have protested, but he hurt all over. It had been so long since he hadn’t hurt. He only nodded, and they made their limping way out of the wreckage and into the Coruscanti sun, leaning on one another.

#

The droids had not found Dooku’s body by the time Obi-Wan left Anakin to go handle the Senate; limping down to the healers seemed the better part of valor for the day. He sketched Bant a brief overview of what had happened as she frowned over his injuries, her smooth hands gentle across damaged skin.

The healers at the Temple had all gotten so much practice, over the past years. They’d grown quieter about their work, Obi-Wan noticed, more reticent and less likely to smile. Even the mind healers felt grim. Perhaps that was a natural effect of losing so many of their patients. 

Not all of the Jedi who made it back to the Temple could be saved. So many were lost, even after they were pulled out of active battle zones. Each Council meeting included updates on their losses and Obi-Wan had felt nothing but aching grief with each death.

Thousands of Jedi had died in the war. More than half their number. And it was not  _ over _ .

He knew that number seemed small, compared to the number of dead troopers and all those lost across various planets, but… But the Jedi were so few to begin with. Sometimes, Obi-Wan wondered if there would be anything left of them by the time the war ended. Sometimes, he thought that even if they won for the Senate, they’d lose.

Sometimes he thought they’d lost long ago, and just not realized it.

He fell quiet, settling into the silence adopted by the healers, as Bant worked.

#

Obi-Wan checked in with the  _ Negotiator _ , exhaling in punchy relief when he heard Cody’s voice. He authorized some leave down on the planet - his men needed to  _ breathe  _ \- and visited Dal-Voe to play silly games with her until she grew drowsy.

Obi-Wan carried her to her bed, her head heavy on his shoulder, and tucked her in as she made contented, pleased little sounds. She curled her fingers into his robes, for a moment, and he stroked back her curls, his eyes stinging all at once.

He left, as her expression eased into restful sleep, and went back to his own bed at the Temple. He knew he ought to be able to sleep. He was bone-weary and the injuries to his chest and back required rest to recover, but…

Obi-Wan ended up sitting on his bunk, leaned over, hands folded over the back of his neck. His head was full of noise. He’d forgotten how to get rid of it, if he’d ever known. He ended up pushing to his feet, starting a pot of tea and then removing it from the heater, unable to settle within his skin. He just wanted to sleep, wanted the buzzing in his head to go away, wanted not to  _ hurt _ .

He swore, softly, and left his quarters. He would, he thought, swing by the crèche briefly, just… look in on Dal-Voe, and then go to the mediation rooms, or perhaps the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Perhaps that was where the peace he needed was hiding.

The crèche master assigned to the sleeping rooms was not at her post when Obi-Wan arrived. He frowned, a prickle moving down his spine, and stretched out his senses. He found her, after a moment, leaning into a corner, evidently asleep.

His heartbeat jumped, paranoia making his pulse beat faster.  _ Everyone  _ in the crèche felt… tired. Deeply asleep. Quiet. Obi-Wan edged a step forward, reaching for the lightsaber on his belt, moving towards Dal-Voe’s chamber and trying to breath slow and steady. Likely it was nothing. Likely he was jumping at shadows. Likely--

The door to the sleeping chamber was open, just a crack. There was a faint, reddish glow from inside.

Obi-Wan had no memory of moving through the door, after. His body just carried him forward, unthinking, his senses screaming at the dark figure standing so tall among all the small beds. He lit his saber as he stepped forward, blue light spilling around as he snapped, “Really, Count? Killing children in their beds? That’s low, even for you.”

The figure sighed, turned to look at him, and he did not need light to recognize Dooku in the Force. Dooku was  _ over Dal-Voe’s bed _ . Obi-Wan’s thoughts tried to trip offline, but he’d been on too many battlefields. He exhaled, focusing on the facts of the situation. Dooku did not look well. He’d come through the re-entry to Coruscant worse for the wear and did not look as thought he’d gotten treatment.

But that did not make him less dangerous. Especially not in a room full of deeply sleeping  _ children _ . Obi-Wan edged a step closer as Dooku said, “Turn around and walk away, Kenobi. This doesn’t concern you.”

“I think,” Obi-Wan said, drawing on the Force to gather reserves he just didn’t have, ignoring the wounds from earlier in the day that still ached, “we both know that it does.”

Dooku reached down, ignoring him, and Obi-Wan swore, leaping forward. None of the children stirred as he lunged between their beds, an unnatural stillness over them as he closed with the Count, lightsabers meeting with a flare of sound. 

Obi-Wan’s body protested in a dozen different places. He knew damn well that he’d not been a match for Dooku earlier in the day, not with Anakin by his side. And that had been before he sustained his injuries. Then again, Dooku was not at his best, either. He’d taken more serious injuries in the collision, as far as Obi-Wan could tell. They were both battered, hurt, at the limits of their endurance, too tired even to speak, just moving with grim, terrible purpose. 

He just had to get Dooku away from the children, raise some kind of alarm. And then he’d have plenty of help. Dooku snarled, expression twisting as Obi-Wan parried blows, working, always, to keep him away from the sleeping children, broadcasting his alarm into the Force, as loudly as he could. He sensed the dampening in the air, though, and did not know if anyone felt him.

In the end, it was not the other Jedi who found them, first. Obi-Wan  _ felt  _ the familiar presence of a trooper and relief blossomed in his chest, sudden and sharp. He had no idea  _ why  _ Cody had decided to visit the Temple on his brief leave, but Obi-Wan would have known him anywhere.

Obi-Wan would get his help, which would, he thought, be more effective if Dooku did not know it was coming. They traded blows, Obi-Wan dancing back, giving ground, just trying to buy time and hold all of Dooku’s attention. He could not, he thought, face Dooku for long in a stand-up fight. Not in his present condition. Perhaps not ever.

As though to prove his point, Dooku reached out, lifted him, and slammed him into the floor again. Obi-Wan coughed, fresh agony blaring up from recent wounds, but none of that mattered. He could see shadows in the doorway. Help. He only needed to buy a little more time, and so he snapped, “That the best you’ve got? I expected more from you.”

He pushed up onto one hand, looked up into sparking electricity and red eyes, anger surging in his direction. And he’d told Anakin, once, that he would die for the younglings. It was almost funny, to think he’d get to prove it. He braced for the pain and--

And Dooku swayed, almost before Obi-Wan heard the blaster shot. Obi-Wan was looking up at him when his face just… went away, char spreading across his skin as lightning dissipated into the air around them.

Dooku was a tall man. It seemed like it took a small eternity for him to hit the ground, his lightsaber rolling away from his fingers. The suffocating silence over the room faded away. Obi-Wan knelt there, shaking with excess adrenaline, and heard the soft noises of children breathing, all at once.

He looked up, not sure he had the energy to stand, yet, and found Cody outlined against the doorway, blaster still in hand and smoking. Obi-Wan rocked back onto his heels, curled an arm around his protesting ribs, and rasped, voice rough with pain, “Excellent shot.”

“ _ Kriff _ ,” Cody snapped and jerked forward, into the room even as the first of the children started waking up. They were sitting up in their beds, alarm ringing through them. Obi-Wan could feel the crèche master stirring as well, out in the hall.

But that felt very far away as Dal-Voe climbed out of her bed, thank the Force unharmed. Obi-Wan had never felt terror from her before, and it cut into him like a vibroblade, driving him, despite the exhaustion and injuries, to his feet. He had to help her, his little girl, her fear and confusion ringing out sharp and clear in the Force.

Her eyes were wide as she stood there, for just a beat, before racing forward. Cody had already reached her, bending as she stretched arms out to him, curling them around his neck. He lifted her with one arm, still holding his blaster, saying something into her hair that Obi-Wan couldn’t hear. He couldn’t hear anything, not under the wave of relief he felt cresting off of Dal-Voe, as she buried her face against Cody’s shoulder and just settled, her emotions stabilizing, fear fading into the background.

Obi-Wan exhaled, expecting Cody to turn and get more help. Obi-Wan could only blink as Cody kept coming, looking down as he stepped over Dooku and, without hesitation, emptying the rest of his clip into the body. 

Cody holstered his blaster, then, and Obi-Wan reached out to him without thinking, full of aches and agony and relief. “Are you alright?” Cody asked, voice low and thick, an arm around him, pulling him close, holding both Obi-Wan and Dal-Voe, and--

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and found it wasn’t even entirely a lie. He closed his eyes, slumping forward, and panted, “I am now.” Cody made a low sound, hand stroking up his back, curling around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, steady and solid.

And that was, approximately, when the entire rest of the Order tried to crowd into the room at the same time, demanding answers and trying to comfort the younglings. Obi-Wan slumped against Cody’s side, smothering a wince when Dal-Voe crawled over into his arms, and managed a smile when Master Windu finally made his way to them.

Mace looked as exhausted as Obi-Wan felt when he asked, “Well, what the kriffing hell happened here?”

#

Eventually, they got the younglings back to sleep. They removed Dooku’s body. Obi-Wan found he did not care, overmuch, where they took it. There was some concern that he should have been taken alive, but Obi-Wan could not bring himself to disagree with Cody’s method of handling the situation.

Still, apparently they were all to be questioned about it. Obi-Wan endured what felt like hours of questions about exactly what had happened, before he was released with the sun staining the horizon with light. Cody was, it seemed, not quite finished.

Obi-Wan sighed, scrubbed at his face, and went back to his quarters to wait, to sit on his bunk and stare at nothing, images of Dooku leaning over Dal-Voe playing out behind his eyes, over and over and over again.

He did not stir until he felt Anakin drawing closer to his rooms, emotions all slipping free of his control. Anakin was full of anxiety about something, along with a sour tang of fear. He must have heard what happened, Obi-Wan assumed. He sighed, rose with a wince, and went to his door, opening it as Anakin reached the threshold.

“Everything alright?” Obi-Wan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, stepping into the room, full of energy with no outlet. He strode towards the couch, sat, and stood again, moving to pace. Obi-Wan watched him for a moment, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I have something to tell you,” Anakin said, finally, glancing over at him and then away again, eyes dark and anguished. And this… was not going how Obi-Wan had imagined. He’d been expecting at least some relief that Dal-Voe was safe. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Oh, good,” Obi-Wan said, leaning a hip against the table, exhausted. “I was worried there for a moment.”

Anakin looked at him again with a sharp roll of his eyes, but some of his anxiety faded down, as well. He blew out a breath and stopped his restless movement, standing in the middle of the room, almost at attention. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders, and Obi-Wan worked to control the worry trying to rise inside of him, bracing for whatever had happened.

He had not expected Anakin to take a deep breath to say, “Padmé - Senator Amidala - she’s, well. She’s pregnant.”

Obi-Wan blinked, readjusting his expectations for the conversation. He was so tired. He said, “Ah. Well. Congratulations, I suppose.”

“I know I should have told--” Anakin started, and then stopped, apparently registering what Obi-Wan had said. He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the father, I assume,” he said, and Anakin’s mouth fell open. Obi-Wan took pity on him, feeling punchy with exhaustion, sighing. “You’ve smelled like her for years, Anakin, every time we even come close to Coruscant. It’s alright. Many alphas form long-term connections to a specific omega.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, shoulders dropping a bit as he reached up to scrub at the back of his neck, with a grimace. “I - that’s - it’s not quite--” He met Obi-Wan’s eyes again, mouth twisted with misery when he said, finally, “We’re married. Padmé and I.”

That  _ did  _ catch Obi-Wan by surprise. He blinked and his voice sounded as though it came from far away when he said, “Excuse me?”

“I know,” Anakin said, quickly, stepping towards him. “I know, it was - but I love her and she loves me and I don’t see how it hurt anything, it just--”

“You made vows to the Order,” Obi-Wan said, unthinking. Long-term relationships were hardly unknown among the Jedi, especially when they involved alphas. There were even a few marriages, Master Mundi’s, for one. But not  _ hidden  _ marriages, not relationships kept secret, like foul and shameful acts. 

Anakin nodded, grimacing, “I, yes, I know, but I’ve  _ kept  _ those vows, I--”

“Have you?” Obi-Wan asked, thinking back through every interaction they’d ever had with Senator Amidala, every action Anakin had taken around her, the way it sometimes seemed like everyone else faded the background for Anakin, in those times. He felt calm and still inside. Cold. Far away from himself. “So you did not also promise to put her first in all things when you married her?”

Anakin was breathing hard. His emotions flared towards anger, all at once, hot and sharp-edged, and Obi-Wan watched him bite back whatever words he was going to say. He watched Anakin swallow and reach for balance, before saying, “It doesn’t - that doesn’t matter right now. It’s not - she’s pregnant, Obi-Wan--”

“What does that--”

“And I saw her dying. In childbirth. The baby, too, I saw it so clearly,” Anakin blurted, fear souring the air between them as he took one step forward and then another. “I dreamed it, and it felt - I could feel the Force, all around me. And I don’t know what to do, but you--” He gripped Obi-Wan’s shoulders, squeezing. “You had Dal-Voe. In the middle of a  _ war _ . You were in armed combat half the time you were pregnant. And you were fine. You know how to -- you know what we should do, how to make sure she’ll be alright. Please. Help me. Help us.”

Obi-Wan took a moment, processing all of that. Anakin’s fingers clenched hard around his shoulders, too tight, one more hurt atop so many others. He felt the tremble in the touch, saw the dark bags under Anakin’s eyes. And Anakin had…. Had chosen Padmé long ago. Over the Order. Over--

But that didn’t really matter, not there with the morning sun coming in around them and Anakin looking at him like Obi-Wan could make everything alright. It was an expression so familiar that it made Obi-Wan’s chest ache. Anakin had been looking at him like that since he first got his hair trimmed short, since Obi-Wan had finished his Padawan braid, for more than a  _ decade _ .

Obi-Wan swallowed, setting aside the conversations they needed to have about marriages and the Order and his weariness and everything else. He said, “Of course I will, Anakin.”

Anakin made a gutted sound, pulling him forward all at once, arms going around him and squeezing, and it hurt, so badly. “I knew you would,” he said, against the side of Obi-Wan’s head. “I knew it. Come on. She’ll be at home.”

#

Obi-Wan had been to Senator Amidala’s apartments before, but not often. He followed Anakin up the path to the doors. Anakin moved like a man very familiar with where everything was, but he would, Obi-Wan supposed. 

“Anakin,” Padmé - it was hard to keep thinking of her as Senator Amidala in their current circumstances - said, as he stepped through the door. She sounded upset; Obi-Wan felt it in her emotions. “You were gone when I woke up, I thought--oh.” She drew up short as she spotted them, her hand fluttering up towards her throat. “General Kenobi. I didn’t--I meant--”

“He knows,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan had assumed Padmé knew he was coming, but apparently Anakin had taken it upon himself to go and get help. Padmé looked over at him, her eyes widening as the upset in her emotions spiked higher. Anakin went to her, hands soft on her arms, and he had not been exaggerating when he said she was pregnant.

She was far along, already, if Obi-Wan were any judge. The draping dress she wore disguised the shape of her stomach, but only somewhat. He cast his memory back towards the last time they were on Coruscant and assumed she was close to seven months gone. “How does he know?” Padmé asked, holding onto Anakin, looking up at him with dark, shining eyes.

“I told him,” Anakin said, sounding sure, now. Calm. “Everything. It’s alright. He’s going to help us.”

“What help do you think we  _ need _ ?” she asked, and Obi-Wan eased back a step and then another, trying to give them space to have their conversation. He ended up speaking with Anakin’s old protocol droid, who seemed intent on bringing him something to eat and finding out if they’d brought R2 with them.

He was in the middle of eating a very well prepared meal when Anakin came to get him again, smiling to see him. Anakin seemed to have reached a punchy stage of relief, nodding as he approached to say, “I just got a comm from the Chancellor. He needs me over at the Senate. But I thought, you know, you and Padmé, you could…?”

“We’ll talk,” Obi-Wan assured him, standing, and Anakin hesitated for a moment before quickly embracing him. A moment later, he was moving towards the door, calling a promise to bring R2 back next time over his shoulder at 3PO.

Obi-Wan watched him go, sighed, and put his napkin over the remains of his meal. He drew himself up, reached for the Force, and went to find Padmé. She was sitting in the main lounge of the apartment, her legs curled under her, staring out the window. She looked over as he cleared his throat, and he could see the sheen of wetness over her eyes.

Padmé blinked the tears away and said, “General Kenobi--”

“Obi-Wan, I think, is more appropriate,” he said, moving closer slowly and sinking into a chair across from her. “Considering our current circumstances. Don’t you?”

She laughed a little, nodding. “Fair enough,” she said. “Obi-Wan. I - I wanted to thank you. For offering your help. Anakin’s so worried….”

Obi-Wan smiled at her gently. He leaned a little forward, tried to figure out where to start, and said, “The healers at the Temple are  _ very  _ experienced with handling deliveries.”

#

They must have spoken for hours. Padmé had words dammed up inside her chest. She’d had no one to talk to about the situation, Obi-Wan realized, not trusting anyone with the knowledge. Months of worries and dreams and fretting poured out and he listened to all of it, reassuring and helping where he could.

So many of her cares reminded her of his first, lost child, a pregnancy more than two decades in the past, now. He felt almost like a different person, sometimes, from that boy who’d wanted so much. He shook those thoughts away when she said, quietly, looking away, “You must think I’m being very foolish.”

“Never,” he said, softly, and she made a sound that was half a laugh, scrubbing a hand across her eyes and looking back at him. 

She eyed him for a while, her small smile fading away as her emotions turned sadder. She dropped her gaze and said, “I’ve been so, well... jealous of you, you know.”

Obi-Wan blinked and asked, “Jealous?” 

She nodded, picking at imaginary wrinkles in her dress, smoothing them out. “Yes.” Her mouth twisted. “He loves you. So much. And - and I know it’s reductive, but you - you have Dal-Voe. You gave him a child and I...haven’t been able to.” Her hands curled up into fists, pressed down on the tops of her legs, the tips of her ears staining red.

“Padmé,” he said, gently, her pain an aching thing he felt in the center of his chest, crowding everything else out. He shook his head, striving for the words to make her understand. “I can sense how much he loves you. And always has. He did not need a child to love you. You certainly have nothing to be jealous of. Not from me. He does not care for me in that way.” 

Her sudden tears surprised him. She felt… less upset, certainly, even as she rose quickly and crossed to him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. He embraced her back, cautiously, trying to project soothing calm into her mind.

He looked up when Anakin cleared his throat, standing across the room, looking a bit puzzled and worried when he asked, “Everything alright here?”

“Yes,” Padmé said, pulling away and smiling at him, blindingly. “Of course.”

#

They arranged, in the end, for Padmé to come down to the Temple the following day, to visit the healers and assuage all of Anakin’s concerns. He assumed Anakin would stay with Padmé, but he followed Obi-Wan back to the Temple, his thoughts restrained and vibrating with tension.

They talked of nothing of consequence as they made their way through the halls. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow when Anakin followed him to his quarters and through the door. Obi-Wan turned to ask what was on his mind, and Anakin said, “I heard you and Padmé talking. When I got back.”

Obi-Wan frowned; he couldn’t recall that they’d said anything of concern. “Oh?” he asked, thinking of nothing that would leave Anakin looking unsettled. “And--”

“And you should know that sometimes,” Anakin cut in, getting that stubborn glint of determination in his eyes that was so often the last thing a battle droid saw, “sometimes, I think about how things might have been different, if I weren’t so impatient on Naboo and Geonosis. If I hadn’t - if I’d thought things through and waited before I married her--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupted, ribs tightening around his lungs as he felt the twist and slant of Anakin’s emotions. Foreboding filled the air between them. He said, quietly, “You don’t need to--”

“I think I do.” Anakin took a step towards him; Obi-Wan took one back. He’d been chided, by Master Windu, for giving ground too much when he sparred with Anakin, but it had always been the nature of their relationship. Anakin watched him, eyes hot. “I -- I do love you,” he blurted. “How do you not know that?”

Obi-Wan took another step back; his shoulders bumped the wall, something like horror tinging through his mind. He opened his mouth, and Anakin kept going, words pouring out of him, “I love Padmé, too, so much. But it doesn’t…” He reached up, clenching his fingers into his robes, over his heart, expression tense, anguished. “It doesn’t diminish how I feel about you. It’s just - the feelings are both there. That’s not my fault, I just…”

He took a step forward, trailing off, hand coming up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek, and Obi-Wan thought of Padmé, telling him she had been jealous of him, thought of her across town, sitting in her fine apartments, waiting for her husband to come back, aching for her, sudden and sharp. A protest formed on Obi-Wan’s lips, even as he turned his face to one side, but he never had a chance to utter it. 

Anakin let out a shuddering breath, emotions contracting in the air around them even as he jerked back a step, leaving only a brush of his breath across Obi-Wan’s skin. Obi-Wan listened to him scrub a hand across his mouth, listened to him pant, a moment later, “I just - I thought you should know. That’s all.”

“You know I care for you, too,” Obi-Wan said, hesitating over his choice of words. He had a feeling, in the moment, that the use of the term  _ love  _ might be taken incorrectly. He loved Anakin nearly more than he could comprehend, some days. But there was not a romantic component to that affection. Still, Anakin grimaced, just a little, even as Obi-Wan continued, “You are one of my closest friends, and - and I’d trust you with anything. I’m so proud of you, Anakin.”

He heard Anakin swallow. “But you’re not in love with me.”

Obi-Wan winced. He couldn’t believe that Anakin was really in love with him. They’d just been… through so much together. The long stretch of the war had confused things. And the heat they’d shared had left… lingering physical wants behind, on Anakin’s side of the issue. He shook his head, “No, Anakin.”

Anakin made a quiet sound, agonized. He took another few steps back, reaching a hand out and bracing it against the wall. “Because you’re in love with Cody.”

Obi-Wan froze, blinking over at him. He thought he’d done… a much better job at keeping his emotions to himself. He’d evidently failed. He supposed he should just be grateful that  _ Cody  _ had not noticed. He would not have been able to bear the pity. Still. He said, “No. Not because of how I feel about Cody.”

Anakin grimaced. “But you do love him,” he snapped, hurt and something close to anger moving in his emotions. “Don’t you?”

Obi-Wan stared at him. The core of love inside of him had not faded, even watching Cody yearn for someone else. It just… lived in his chest, spreading out and touching every piece of him. He knew it would likely remain, even after he found whoever it was Cody loved, even after he convinced them that they ought to love Cody back.

He wanted Cody to be happy. He would make it happen, if he could.

But that was not relevant to their current conversation. He exhaled, accepting the hurt, and said, “Yes.”

Anakin nodded, jerkily, rubbing a hand up over his face. His eyes shone with the promise of tears. Obi-Wan drew in a breath and let it go. “It’s been a long day, Anakin. Go home to your wife. Rest. Come back tomorrow and we will figure this out. Together.”

Anakin swallowed, glancing over at him, his hands clenched to fists. “You still want to help me? Still… After everything?”

Obi-Wan sighed. The decisions Anakin had made would  _ need  _ addressed, but at least Anakin no longer seemed to be trying to avoid such a thing. Bringing Padmé to the Temple would reveal so much kept hidden for so long, after all. 

“Even now,” Obi-Wan said, and decided not to grip his shoulder, to keep his physical distance. “Always.”

Anakin sagged, as though a weight had fallen off of him all at once. He said, voice hoarse, “But will I be able to stay in the Order?”

“That,” Obi-Wan said, offering out comfort through the Force, “will be up to you.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and would have said more, had not an initiate pounded on the door at that moment, summoning them both to the Council chambers. Obi-Wan suppressed a grimace, sighed, and wondered what new problems the day had in store for them.

He took a step forward, and Anakin grabbed his arm before he could get through the door, blurting, suddenly, “The Chancellor put me on the Council.”

Obi-Wan blinked up at him, watching his cheeks darken and his gaze dart to the side. “ _ What _ ?”

“I know,” Anakin grimaced, glanced at the initiate, and said, “I’ll explain on the way.”

#

The meeting with the Council was one of the most surreal Obi-Wan had ever had the displeasure of attending. It lasted for hours as they all thoroughly dug into Anakin’s appointment to the Council and - after Anakni shot Obi-Wan a questioning look - Anakin’s marriage, the presence of a possible Sith lord in the Senate, and the disposition of General Grievous.

At some point, Master Yoda mentioned Dooku’s attack and Obi-Wan realized that Anakin really knew  _ nothing  _ about it, had somehow missed the entire thing, and they had to discuss  _ that _ as well. At least he learned, in the meeting, that Cody had been released and was getting an award for his bravery the previous evening.

Obi-Wan felt like he’d fought another battle by the time he stepped back out through those grand doors. Anakin had agreed - with a surprising amount of grace - to go and visit the Chancellor. He’d complained, briefly, of being asked to lie, face going ruddy with temper when Master Mundi mentioned that he’d been lying to them all for some years.

“I just…. Wasn’t telling the entire truth,” Anakin had protested, and flushed again when he was advised to tell less than the whole truth to the Chancellor.

Obi-Wan hoped his mission would be productive. Likely, Obi-Wan would not find out until after he’d returned from his own task. His orders sent him offworld, back to Utapau, in search of Grievous, to end him once and for all.

With Dooku dead and gone, Grievous represented the last major source of power for the Separatists. Obi-Wan intended to ensure the monster never hurt anyone else, one way or another.

It was an odd sort of relief, to board the  _ Negotiator  _ again. He took a deep breath as he stepped off of the shuttle, the presence of so many familiar minds curling around him. Coruscant seemed full of unwelcome and unpleasant emotions, of tasks that twisted back around on themselves and perils unknown.

Going to fight was a simple, straightforward sort of task. 

Obi-Wan felt dead on his feet by the time he reached the bridge, Cody turning to nod at him, emotions briefly flaring with hurt as he entered. Obi-Wan smiled back, helpless not to feel relief to see him, and said, “Good to see you again, Commander. Shall we get on our way?”

#

“We’re not meeting up with any other Generals on the way?” Cody asked, later, finding Obi-Wan down in the mess. Obi-Wan glanced over at him - he’d been staring out at the blur of stars passing by, trying to remember when he’d last slept and coming up with a blank - and crooked a smile, gesturing at the other chair at his table.

“Not this time,” he said, tapping his fork against his plate. They’d picked up some fresh supplies while above Coruscant, which meant the food was close to palatable, for a change. He’d long ago learned how to eat even with his stomach tight and tense. 

Cody frowned, sitting and putting down his plate, tucking into his food with an expression that said he wasn’t really tasting it. “Just you, then, against Grievous?” His mouth twisted as he spoke the General’s name.

“Just us,” Obi-Wan corrected, shrugging. Usually, they were pulled in so many different directions, but for once the Senate wasn’t sending the 212th somewhere else during the fight. He’d have support, though he’d prefer to keep his men well back. Grievous tended to tear through individuals without the Force like a rancor through a sheet.

Not that he was significantly  _ less  _ deadly to Jedi. He’d killed so much of Obi-Wan’s family.

Obi-Wan set that thought to the side, chewing another bite, swallowing, actions completed because his body needed energy. He said, quietly, “Just like last night. Thank you, Cody. You saved my life. Dal-Voe’s life.”

Cody froze, emotions flaring and contracting for a moment. Obi-Wan had more problems to keep track of than he could count, but… but he’d kept coming back, through the day, to the image of Cody grabbing his daughter, making her safe. 

It left him feeling aching and raw, inside.

“Of course I did,” Cody said, reaching out hesitantly, fingers brushing Obi-Wan’s hand on the table. The touch was so soft. Barely there. Obi-Wan swallowed hard, feeling it in the center of his chest, even as Cody cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been thinking about what we might do, on Utapau.” Obi-Wan gestured for him to share, listening to battle plans 

He smiled again when Cody asked if they might meditate, after the meal. It felt easier to set his thoughts to order, sitting in the dim room and turning his focus inward, beyond his flesh and bones, to the ever-present pulse of the Force.

He thought of asking Cody about the person he cared for, thought of trying to offer advice. But he was not ready, yet, to do such a thing. Perhaps after the battle, he thought. Perhaps, until then, he did not have to dwell on the hurt within his chest.

#

Obi-Wan burned the heart out of Grievous on Utapau, watching him writhe and combust from the inside out, all of his mechanical pieces unable to hold him together any longer. It would have been inappropriate to feel pleasure in watching Grievous perish in agony, but Obi-Wan could not avoid a certain feeling of deep, exhausted satisfaction.

It left him feeling punchy, full of adrenaline yet unspent, as he made his way back to his troopers. He smiled when Cody extended out his lightsaber, lost at some forgotten point in the battle. He thought, absently, that at least Grievous would not have been able to add it to his collection, had Obi-Wan fallen.

He knew that Cody would have kept it safe for him.

Obi-Wan almost blurted the thought out, thrumming all over with singing nerves and a bright sharp feeling that it took him a moment to identify. Relief. He had not felt relief in so long. He felt… oddly light, all of a sudden. Buoyant, even disconcertingly giddy. Perhaps, he thought, it was the exhaustion.

The feeling led to him lingering, gaze sliding across Cody’s expression, considerations sleeting through his thoughts. He imaged, briefly, leaning in and taking a kiss to commemorate the victory, but--

But, his heart reminded him, with a sharp little ache, that a kiss was not his to take. Cody - just like Anakin, really - had fallen in love with someone else. His heart lay elsewhere. Obi-Wan had no desire to act the thief, to steal something that was not his and never had been. 

And so he turned aside, a pithy remark falling from his lips without thought or intention. His sharp tongue felt like the only part of him that still worked. He would go after the rest of Grievous’ armies and he would burn  _ them  _ to the ground, as well, and then he would go back to Coruscant and hunt down this other Sith and set things to rights. Suddenly, impossibly, that all seemed clear and possible.

His mount had barely taken two steps when Cody called, voice carrying across the open space, “General, wait! I’m getting news from Coruscant. You’re going to want to hear  _ this _ .”

A holo figure was flickering over Cody’s arm by the time Obi-Wan slid off his mount’s back. It took him a beat to recognize Master Windu’s form. “Mace?” Obi-Wan asked, coming to stand by Cody’s shoulder.

Mace looked over at him. The holo was weak and flickering, but it was clear enough for Obi-Wan to see that he was hurt  _ and  _ smiling. “I have news,” Mace said, his voice crackling with the distance. “Good news. The other Sith lord is dead.”

The words hit like a blow to the sternum. Obi-Wan swayed, reaching out and gripping Cody’s shoulder, half-sure he was dreaming as he asked, “What? How?”

Mace shook his head, looking to the side and gesturing. “I’ll let Skywalker explain,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t conscious for all of it, anyway, and I need to… see to Kit, Agen, and Saesee.” He stepped away before Obi-Wan could ask what that  _ meant _ , replaced only a moment later by Anakin who--

Who looked barely able to stand, one side of his face covered in blood. It took Obi-Wan a moment to make sense of his posture, to realize he was cradling what remained of his left arm - he’d lost it somewhere below the elbow - in his right. Obi-Wan lurched forward, as though he could touch Anakin over the parsecs, and demanded, “What happened? Are you alright?”

Anakin laughed, shaky, and said, “I don’t know. I think so. I - it was Palpatine, Obi-Wan. It was the Chancellor.”

Shock moved like icy water through Obi-Wan’s veins. His tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. It was Cody who demanded, “What?”

Anakin nodded his head, jerkily. He looked shocky. Obi-Wan wanted to yell for medics, for help, but he was on the wrong  _ planet _ . “He wanted - he had all these plans. He tried to - to - he said he could help Padmé and - and--” Anakin grimaced, looking to the side and shuddering. “He wanted to wipe out the Jedi, Obi-Wan. He wanted me to help.” 

Anakin’s voice cracked, horribly, and Obi-Wan wondered how Palpatine had ever thought, for a second, that Anakin would take a hand in killing his own child. Then again, he considered, Dooku had been standing over her bed, so recently…. Perhaps, Palpatine had hoped Dal-Voe would no longer be a concern, perhaps…

“But how--” Obi-Wan started, shaking his awful thoughts away, feeling as though the entire galaxy had changed shape without warning, unsure how they’d found out that Palpatine was the Sith, how they’d killed him, what had happened to Kit, Agen, and Saesee.

“The medics are here, now,” Anakin said, before he could get a question out. He looked relieved and exhausted. “I’ll tell you all about it when you come home,” he said, and, a moment later, the holo flickered and went out.

“Force,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, looking over to meet Cody’s gaze; Cody, at least, looked as shocked as Obi-Wan felt. The Chancellor was - had been - a Sith, and he was  _ dead _ now, he had to have been the hidden dark lord, the one they could not find, which meant--

“What do we do now?” Cody asked, watching him. Next to no one else knew, Obi-Wan realized, looking past Cody’s shoulders, at all the other troopers still going about their business. Anakin had - somehow - convinced Mace to comm  _ him _ . 

Obi-Wan shook his head, blinking, still trying to process the massive shift in the world. He tightened his grip on Cody’s shoulder, half for his own stability, half for just the joy of touching someone else in that moment, with the galaxy reshaped to a place that contained more than the barest shreds of hope, a place where they stood a  _ chance _ .

He was glad, deep in his gut, where he knew he should not be, that he was sharing the moment specifically with Cody.

“Now,” he said, “we find the rest of the Separatists on this world.”

#

The fighting stopped, a day later. The droids just deactivated where they stood, a sweeping stillness passing across them in the middle of a battle. Obi-Wan, embattled and surrounded on all sides, cautiously straightened as blaster after blaster fell silent.

He waited for the droids to spring the trap, to start firing again, but they just… stayed where they were.

Trot, standing beside Obi-Wan, reached out to one of the droids and pushed its shoulder. It went over sideways, stiff, knocking into one of its fellows. Obi-Wan grimaced, a bit, at the chain reaction that started, as droids collapsed outward in a steadily expanding wave. “Sorry,” Trot said, sounding abashed.

Obi-Wan waved a hand, turning, feeling all the aches of the battle as he looked across his men. “I don’t suppose,” he said, “that anyone knows what’s going on?”

“I do, sir!” a shiny - Riddig - said, all at once, hurrying forward. He wore a comm rig on his back and held his hands out in front of him, a little holo rotating above his palms. “It’s news from Coruscant,” he said, sounding awed, stunned. “The war - it’s  _ over _ .”

Obi-Wan asked, “What?” but the question was drowned out by sudden exclamations and shouting from all around. Obi-Wan moved closer to Riddig, gaze on the holo, catching glimpses of words as they rotated and changed.

A surrender, he read, his heart pounding hard, half-sure this was a dream. Separatist armies shut down, he saw. Senate leadership meeting with Separatists even as a ceasefire to all hostilities was called across the galaxy and--

Obi-Wan felt the cheering start before the shouting began, hundreds of minds all lighting up with joy and relief around him at once. He laughed, punchy, his eyes burning because it was  _ over _ , somehow it had  _ ended _ , it was  _ done _ , and--

And all around him, troopers were embracing, lifting each other, or just taking off their buckets and tossing them aside, some of them sinking down to sit on the ground, expressions stunned. Obi-Wan turned in a slow circle, all of their emotions buffeting him, jerking around at a sudden sharp flare of attention in his direction.

He found Cody hurrying towards him across the suddenly-not-a-battlefield, helmet lost somewhere, dirt and blood cacked through his hair, his armor scrapped. “Did you hear?” Obi-Wan asked, beaming, overfull with wild joy and relief, moving towards him, reaching to grip both his arms, overcome with something like the same urge that had troopers laughing and lifting some of their brothers up, carrying them around, cheering.

Cody nodded, instead of answering, and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s side. HIs other hand came up to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, tugging, and Obi-Wan went with the movement, so full of delight that he didn’t even think to protest or wonder what Cody planned.

He realized as Cody’s gaze dropped to his mouth, all Cody’s emotions tumbling over him, joy and desire and want and--

Obi-Wan groaned, taken off of his guard, when Cody kissed him, there, in the midst of all his brothers. The troopers around them noticed, after a beat, cheering and laughing, calling words that Obi-Wan couldn’t quite make out. Apparently, Cody took it as encouragement, pulling Obi-Wan closer, hand sliding around to Obi-Wan’s back, palm flattened across his spine.

Obi-Wan had never been dipped before. He curled an arm around Cody’s neck, not particularly worried about being dropped, and kissed him back, even knowing he ought not. Somewhere out there was someone who Cody would rather be kissing, instead.

But, in that moment, with the news of the end of the war spreading around them, Obi-Wan felt too full of sweet relief to care. He melted into the embrace, breathless when Cody pulled back a moment later, his eyes dark and warm and steady, just for a second, before something shifted inside him, almost violently.

Cody said, aching with hurt inside as he pulled Obi-Wan back to his feet, “Oh, Force, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

Riddig cleared his throat, off to the side, somewhere, holding his holo device in a way that Obi-Wan found very suspicious. Obi-Wan blinked and looked towards him, dazed. “It’s the Council, sir,” Riddig said, apparently unsure where to look. “They need to speak with you.”

Obi-Wan nodded, stepping away from Cody’s embrace, and tugging his robes into order.

#

They celebrated on the  _ Negotiator _ , on the way back to Coruscant. The entire ship thrummed with giddy energy, a pleasant change of pace. The emotions suffused Obi-Wan; he woke up each morning feeling full of energy, light, almost weightless.

Cody seemed concerned, at first, when they made it back to the ship. He watched Obi-Wan from the corners of his eyes, looking… unsure. Perhaps feeling guilty about the kiss they had shared. Obi-Wan considered reassuring him that he had not read anything into it. They’d all needed an outlet for their relief.

In the end, he decided that bringing it up would likely make things worse. Better to simply show Cody that he had no reason for concern, that Obi-Wan was not expecting more of him than he wanted to give.

He sensed Cody outside his door, twice, on that trip back to Coruscant, but both times Cody left without knocking. Obi-Wan, who had paused - treacherous hope in his chest - nodded as he left, swallowed and reached back for the joy of the troopers around him.

It soothed the ache inside of his chest.

#

Coruscant was in the throws of celebration when the  _ Negotiator  _ entered orbit. There were articles everywhere about the end of the war, about the collective relief of the galaxy. Some of them, Obi-Wan found, with an unpleasant little lurch, featured a picture of him and Cody, engaged in an embrace that...Obi-Wan found it difficult to look at. Obviously, he needed to have a talk with Riddig about the appropriate uses of his holo rig.

That could wait. Obi-Wan gave his troopers leave to enjoy themselves - he had, he realized, no idea what would happen to them, a problem he intended to solve as quickly as possible - and went down to the Temple.

He found Anakin floating in a bacta tank, his abbreviated arm a terrible reminder of the cost they’d all paid. He was not alone in the healers’ rooms. Mace floated in the tank beside him, pressure bandages around his chest. 

And there were so many guests there, waiting.

Ahsoka was already moving towards the door when Obi-Wan stepped through, her arms stretched towards him as she said, “Master Obi-Wan, you’re back.” She hit him almost at a run, and he lifted her off of her feet as her arms went around his back, squeezing tight. He half-spun with the momentum of catching her, setting her back on the ground after a moment.

Obi-Wan held her, his chest full of aching relief at the sight of her, the reality of her, there and safe. “So are you,” he said, his voice thick, and she nodded. She pulled back - only slightly - after a moment, keeping an arm around him.

“Barriss came back, too,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes shining. “She’s with Master Luminara right now. I think… they have a lot to talk about.”

The sweet swell of Obi-Wan’s emotions spread further, pushing the limits of his ribs. “Good,” he said, looking past her, at Padmé, who stood by Anakin’s bacta tank, a hand on the swell of her stomach and dark, worried circles under her eyes.

Obi-Wan moved to her, an arm still around Ahsoka’s shoulders - she seemed to want to stay close - and said, “He’s going to be fine.” Anakin’s presence in the Force was strong and steady. He’d been hurt, but he’d recover. Obi-Wan could feel it.

“I know,” Padmé said, looking up at him and managing a wobbly smile. “We’re all going to be fine.” And she laughed, watery, taking a step away from the tank and stretching out her arms, and Obi-Wan pulled her closer, as well, considering that she might actually be  _ right,  _ impossibly enough.

#

Obi-Wan’s approaching heat almost slipped his mind over the coming weeks. There was so much else to do. A number of different bills related to providing relief and reconstruction help to the worlds affected by the war started making their way through the Senate. Discussions regarding the future of the troopers predominated most news networks. And everyone, everywhere, seemed to be talking about the Sith lord who had led them all around for so many years.

Representatives from so many different worlds came to Coruscant. Bo-Katan even sent a delegate from Mandalore, a young man with Satine’s pale eyes and a reddish tinge to his hair and--and Obi-Wan stared at him across the room, knowing who he was even before they were introduced.

His son said, “Oh, you must be Master Kenobi. My… Aunt Satine spoke about you, sometimes,” when they shook hands, a question in his eyes, and Obi-Wan’s heart ached, sharp and sudden. He swallowed back the pain, smiled, and asked after the boy’s family, relieved to hear they were well.

His son was alive, strong and healthy, with Satine’s smile. Obi-Wan found he could not ask for more than that from the universe. 

Many of the troopers wanted to stay around the Temple. There was plenty of space for them, at the moment. The numbers of the Order had been so thoroughly depleted by the war. Obi-Wan figured that had all been part of Palpatine’s plan.

At their full strength, he would have stood no chance against them. But he’d spent an entire war whittling them away, pulling the Order to pieces, killing their entire people slowly. 

Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought and at how closely Palpatine had come to successfully carrying out his plan. A terrible part of him wondered, in the aftermath, what would have happened if Anakin had not told him about Padmé’s pregnancy, if Dal-Voe had not been at the Temple, if…

He set those thoughts aside, refusing to believe that Anakin would have ever worked with Palpatine. He focused instead on assigning rooms to the troopers, sitting in on Council meetings where they discussed expansions of the Temple proper and what the troopers might  _ do  _ if they decided to stay.

Accepting so many people into the Order was unprecedented, especially as they were not Force users. But they had fought beside one another for years. Obi-Wan knew perfectly well he was not the only member of the Council who saw the troopers as family, just as much as the Jedi in the Order.

They’d welcome all of those who wanted to stay. The rest, he knew, would sort itself out. Somehow.

#

Not everyone was interested in  _ joining  _ the Order, as the fall out of the war stretched around them. Obi-Wan’s throat went tight and his eyes stung when Anakin tendered his resignation with the Order, but he smiled and embraced Anakin, afterwards, so many years of history in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, against the side of his hair, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Find happiness and peace, Anakin.”

Anakin gripped him more tightly, for a long moment, emotions all spilling free, and Obi-Wan finally had names for some of them, feeling tinges of love and affection against his mind, even then. He hoped, sincerely, that those feelings would fade, once Anakin was not around him all the time. Anakin swallowed, hard, before pulling back. “I know asking you to finish Ahsoka’s training is…”

“I’m happy to train her,” Obi-Wan said, squeezing his arm. He was relieved, in fact, that Ahsoka had been willing to have him, that she had  _ wanted  _ to return and finish her training, Barriss at her side. Luminara had not accepted another Padawan, after Barriss disappeared. Obi-Wan knew she’d always  _ hoped  _ for Barriss to return, aching with missing her Padawan.

Anakin nodded, looking to the side and blinking away the wetness in his eyes. He said, his voice hoarse, “And - and someday. When the twins are older...if they’re Force sensitive....”

“I’ll look after them, too,” Obi-Wan said, without even thinking about it, imagining two Skywalkers rampaging around through the crèche, wondering, briefly, what Dal-Voe might think of her half-siblings.

“I know you will,” Anakin said, and smiled, and Obi-Wan embraced the bittersweet ache in his chest as he watched Anakin walk down the Temple steps, a hand on Padmé’s back to steady her as she wobbled, roundly pregnant and glowing, now that she was no longer trying to hide it.

“You alright?” Cody asked, his voice a pleasant, warm surprise. 

Obi-Wan turned to look at him; he’d only just came out of the Temple, it appeared. He wore his blacks and the white tunic that many of the troopers had adopted in the past weeks, perhaps because it resembled their armor so much. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, taking a step up towards Cody, not needing to watch Anakin and Padmé climb into the ship below. They were to make their way to Naboo, to spend the last few weeks of her pregnancy there, to have their children in the Lake District, to live a life in another world, one Obi-Wan had never known.

Cody’s brows were drawn together, his mouth twisted down. He looked past Obi-Wan at the docking area, and then sighed. Obi-Wan disliked seeing him looking so troubled, hated the feel of hurt inside him, and touched his arm, asking, “Are you hungry? There’s a place I’d like to show you.” Cody nodded, even as the tension in his emotions rose, instead of dissipating.

Dex found Cody delightful, as Obi-Wan had known he would, and Cody seemed to enjoy his food, but he remained on edge until they returned to the Temple. Obi-Wan meant to ask him if his person did not mind his decision to stay on Coruscant, but the words caught behind his teeth and he did not manage to speak them.

#

Obi-Wan woke up on a day with a dozen different meetings planned and sighed at the warm, aching feeling under his skin. He stayed in his bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling. He was on Coruscant. No one was - as far as he knew - trying to kill him.

It would be a simple thing, to slip down to a bar, somewhere. He could find an alpha. That was never difficult. Generally, a smile sufficed. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth and made his stomach ache, but wishing the situation were different would not make it so. He exhaled, scrubbed his face, and rolled from his bunk.

If he took care of things quickly enough, he could still make most of the afternoon meetings, after all.

He scrubbed clean in the fresher, delaying the inevitable with a water shower that left his skin tingly and reddened in places. Hot water still felt like a luxury. Perhaps it always would. He dried off, pulled on his tunics, and avoided looking at himself in the mirror, ashamed by the yearning in his chest.

He’d known all along where Cody stood, after all. And he’d known Cody was in love with someone else for almost a year.

Obi-Wan exhaled, shoved a hand back through his hair, and headed for the door, wincing a little when he realized that Cody was, in fact, rather close by. Obi-Wan intended to stay in his quarters until Cody passed and felt his heart jerk when Cody stopped outside, instead of moving on, and, after a moment, knocked.

Obi-Wan hesitated, cursed himself for acting a fool, and opened the door. He had words planned to say, resting on the tip of his tongue, and they faded when he realized that Cody had brought a tray of breakfast with him. Cody arched an eyebrow and said, “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, automatically, stepping back. Cody had been in his quarters often, in the past few weeks. They’d shared meals, discussions, a few quiet evenings as Cody looked through the books he’d gathered, here and there, from across the stars.

Cody walked to his little kitchenette without hesitation, putting down the tray and looking over his shoulder at Obi-Wan. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shifting around, feeling warmer under his skin just from having Cody close by, a reaction trained into him from the last three years. His blood sang out, calling for something he couldn’t have. He tried to set it aside, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I’m not very hungry, actually.” That had never changed. He’d always lost his appetite during a heat.

Cody glanced over at him, back at the tray, and shrugged. “It’ll keep,” he said, taking a step away from the table, back towards Obi-Wan. Each movement closer spilled more heat through Obi-Wan’s blood and increased his heart rate. Each inhalation brought with it the knowledge that Cody smelled like want and heavy desire.

Hunger, but not for food.

And - and it didn’t make sense, Obi-Wan thought, breath catching as Cody stopped before him,  _ close _ . Cody  _ had someone _ , someone he cared for, but-- But Cody cleared his throat, and said, there in front of him, full of want and misery, “I didn’t know... if you’d want help. This time. After…” He flexed his hands at his sides, trailing off.

Perhaps this was just a kindness, Obi-Wan thought, one last heat spent together, there at the end of the war, at the galaxy’s shift into a better shape, one final celebration. Just once more, maybe he could have this. A goodbye.

Obi-Wan shoved the thoughts away. It was tempting to consider taking Cody up on his offer, pulling him close, one more time. Indulging. But Cody loved someone else, and -- and Obi-Wan wasn’t selfish enough to steal what wasn’t his. No matter how much he wanted.

And so he cleared his throat, standing there, close enough to grab everything he’d ever wanted, and looked to the side. He said, “I appreciate the offer, but…” He trailed off, his throat pinching closed, surprised by the sudden swell of agony from Cody. The pain dragged his gaze back to Cody’s face, the way his expression was shutting down.

Obi-Wan had no idea what the pain was  _ from _ , but it sank into him like claws. He couldn’t  _ not  _ try to fix it, reaching out, touching Cody’s arm even though it spiked the heat in his blood higher, keeping his tone gentle when he said, “I’m very grateful for - for everything. But I understand that you, well. Have feelings for someone else. And I--”

Cody’s head snapped up, his emotions shifting, whipsnap fast. He was frowning when he spat, sounding almost disgusted, “I do  _ not _ .”

Obi-Wan stared at him, painfully aware of the heat in his blood, all at once, feeling utterly exposed. “I heard you,” he said, flushing. “Talking to Commander Bly. I know you’re in love with--”

“What? I’m in love with  _ you _ ,” Cody blurted, turning his face to the side, again, expression set with misery. “I’ve  _ always  _ been in love with you,” he continued, quieter. 

Obi-Wan considered, distantly, that he might be dreaming again. The world felt far away. He felt dizzy. He said, faintly, “What? But -- there was someone else. Someone--the love of your life, I heard...” 

Cody’s mouth twisted. He shook his head roughly, and said, “There’s never been  _ anyone  _ else.”

Obi-Wan ached inside, sharp and swift. He took a step back, light-headed, managing to grope a hand back for the chair at his little table. He sat, heavily, and said, almost unable to stop himself, “What--”

“I fell in love with you years ago,” Cody interrupted, quietly, standing where Obi-Wan had left him. “Watching you fight a war with a baby growing in you. How could I not? And I--You’re all I’ve wanted. Since then.”

Obi-Wan tried to process that, agony spiking within him for a moment. It felt  _ unreal _ . He shook his head, swallowing, waiting to wake up from this dream where the war was over, and Cody  _ loved him _ . He reached out, holding onto the table with one hand, his other arm curling around his chest.

“I know,” Cody said, shoulders tight, hands clenched, just  _ standing there _ , “that it’s not that way for you. I thought, before-- but I know, now, you were in love with the Duchess. And I’m not trying to make you feel like you have to--to feel the same way, or push you, I just thought… you might not want to be with a stranger. That’s all.”

The world had stopped making sense, utterly. Obi-Wan almost got up to make a pot of tea, out of sheer confusion, but couldn’t seem to move. His heart  _ hurt _ . He said, “I don’t -- I loved Satine when I was a child. I don’t--” He looked up as he spoke, planning to meet Cody’s eyes, and found Cody staring at him, looking  _ lost _ . Obi-Wan felt like he might split in half, saying, just to be clear, “I’m not in love with her now.”

Cody shifted, slowly, squaring with him, somehow avoiding looming. Obi-Wan asked, slowly, looking up at him, waiting to wait up, “You love me?” And, because it  _ didn’t make sense _ , “Are you sure?”

“I’ve always been sure,” Cody said, emotions just as high as Obi-Wan’s, his voice thick, and Obi-Wan made a helpless sound, aching inside. 

He could not seem to wrap his mind around the words. He kept waiting for Cody to explain that he was misunderstanding. He kept waiting to wake up. He said, helplessly, “I’m - no one has ever wanted me, before. Ever. You should know there’s something wrong with me. I don’t--”

Cody made a deep, frustrated sound, moved towards him and curled down. He put a hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek and kissed him, soft and careful. The gentleness lasted a breath, before Obi-Wan groaned and pulled him closer, hungry need blossoming through him all at once. Oh, he wanted, wanted desperately to tumble Cody down into his bed, to hold him close within the walls of the Temple, both of their homes, now. 

Cody made a thick sound against his mouth, tucking back his hair, which only fell forward again. It was really getting far too long, and Obi-Wan could taste his desire on the air, even as Cody pulled back again. “What the kriff are you talking about? There’s  _ nothing  _ wrong with you. I want you,” he all but growled, the words a rumble, “all of you. Forever. But if you don’t--”

“I  _ do _ ,” Obi-Wan said, the words jumping out without intention, into the space between them, daring to let himself hope, finding the space for it, amidst all of the hurt and surety that he was reading this wrong. 

Cody’s eyes snapped to meet his gaze, hot and dark, and Obi-Wan grabbed him, his eyes burning, his ribs biting at his lungs and heart. He gasped, because he wanted to say it, before he woke up, before this all ended, “I love you, as well.” 

Cody froze, just for an instant, and then he was kissing Obi-Wan desperately, pulling him to his feet. Obi-Wan pressed against him, burning under his skin and so full of relief - his own and  _ Cody’s _ , mixed together - that he couldn’t think around it. He’d pushed aside the wants of his heat for as long as possible; they overflowed as he pressed closer.

He knew that he no longer wanted to finish things in time to handle afternoon meetings. He wanted to spend all day in his rooms, wanted to engrave each moment into his memory, wanted his heat to never end.

He tugged at the clasps on Cody’s tunic, wanting the fabric off, wanting to reach the skin beneath, to touch him, every single inch of his body. He’d  _ dreamed  _ about touching Cody, about trading sweet, drugging kisses, scrambling to get ever closer. 

His breath escaped in a rush when Cody lifted him, abruptly, with an impatient sound in his throat. He curled arms around Cody’s shoulders and panted out, “The healers, I haven’t been for--”

“Do you want to go?” Cody asked, stopping halfway across his room, with no discernable strain, as though he’d just… stand there all day if necessary. Obi-Wan thought about it, curled close, aching with the realization that all the love he’d felt from Cody had been - been for him, the entire time, not someone else, there  _ was  _ no one else.

And the war was over. They were going to have peace. He’d never  _ planned  _ to skip a contraceptive before, but - but the idea of a child, dark-eyed like Cody, with a sweet, matching smile, was… beyond tempting. He said, a breath before he took another kiss, “No, I don’t. Unless you don’t want--”

“Believe me,” Cody rasped, moving forward again with fresh purpose. “I  _ want _ .” And then they were tumbling to his bed, trying to find a way to fit on the narrow mattress. Obi-Wan panted, tilting his chin up as Cody sucked kisses to his neck, hands everywhere, hot and sure and knowing.

Obi-Wan arched into the touches, thrumming inside, like a livewire or an ignited lightsaber. He groaned, “I want - hold on--” and shoved at Cody’s shoulder, Cody rolling with the pressure, over onto his back. 

Obi-Wan had no delusions that he’d be any good at something he’d never done before. The knowledge made his fingers try to tremble as he tugged at Cody’s belt, yanking at his pants, Cody helpfully lifting his hips. But, oh, he wanted.

Cody was already hard, cock curving up towards his stomach. The light coming in through the windows made his skin almost glow. He looked like artwork, beautiful sprawled across Obi-Wan’s sheets, while a thousand wants jumbled together in Obi-Wan’s head.

“Come here,” Cody rasped, tugging on his arm, and Obi-Wan blinked.

“Wait,” he said, desires left by his dreams curling within his gut. “I want to just--” and he bent, shouldering between Cody’s legs, putting a hand on the sheets by his hip. He wetted his lips, heart beating triple-time, and Cody cried out when Obi-Wan licked across his cock.

He had no experience with the process, but that hardly seemed to matter. He found he  _ liked  _ the weight on his tongue. Cody’s skin tasted faintly of soap, clean and familiar. Obi-Wan swallowed, lips around him, bobbing his head experimentally, and Cody gasped out something that sounded like a prayer, his hands petting at Obi-Wan’s head.

Obi-Wan licked and sucked, delighted at the sounds he drew from Cody’s throat, his own cock hard and aching, well aware that he was leaving a mess across his clothes and not caring. He brought a hand up, cautiously, curling fingers below his mouth, and Cody choked above him. Obi-Wan  _ felt  _ his knot start to swell, felt the rise of it against the pads of his fingers, and then Cody was pulling on him, hauling him up, kissing his wet mouth.

“Kriffing hell,” Cody panted between messy kisses, hands curled to cradle Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan shifted against him, reaching a hand down, stoking Cody’s cock; it was easier, he noted, when it was all wet from his mouth, and--

And Cody growled against his mouth, shifting to dump him down to the sheets, pulling at his clothes with a dark, determined look in his eyes. Cody kissed his throat, his collarbone, down his chest, radiating hunger as his fingers pushed aside fabric, baring Obi-Wan to his sight.

Cody knew what he liked - knew  _ exactly  _ what made Obi-Wan pant and squirm - and he employed all his knowledge to devastating effect. Obi-Wan cried out, shivering, when Cody pressed a kiss to his hip, to his stomach, to his cock, fingers sliding back and down, pushing  _ in _ , and Obi-Wan was so ready, tilting his hips up for it, listening to Cody make a thick, pleased sound around him.

He barely lasted any time at all, taken apart so skillfully, groaning when Cody swallowed him down, looking up with dark eyes even as he slipped his fingers free. Obi-Wan reached out to him, half-senseless, pulling him up and close as Cody hooked an arm around his leg, leaving him open and exposed and--

And Obi-Wan gasped against his mouth with the first press in, holding him tight, wanting him closer, impossibly close. Pleasure sang through him, and he reveled in it, trying to imprint each moment on his memory, drowning in the knowledge that Cody  _ wanted him back, and _ \--

“Force,” Cody panted, shifting over him to a different angle, fucking him hard and deep while Obi-Wan hung on. It was so good, perfect, just the way he liked, his fingers dragging over the shifting muscles in Cody’s back and shoulders, unable to stop touching, unable to get  _ enough _ , even as Cody’s rhythm got jerkier, more desperate.

He wanted to be closer, wanted to kiss Cody’s mouth while they were knotted, wanted so much, and  _ he could have it _ \--

And Cody groaned, driving into him hard and perfect, “Force, Force, I want--”

“What do you want?” Obi-Wan asked, well aware that he’d do whatever he could to grant it. He could feel Cody’s breath against his throat, hot on already burning skin, each movement together a perfect note in a symphony.

Cody shook his head, making a strangled sound, and Obi-Wan dragged nails across the back of his neck. “Tell me,” he said, breath punched out of him when Cody shifted again, “please, Cody.” He wasn’t sure what else there could be to tell, really.

Cody groaned, trembling again, shifting his hips like he could get  _ deeper _ . He panted out, head still bowed over, teeth grazing skin, “I want - Force, Obi-Wan - I want to have you like this all the time. I want you, every day, just like this--” he cut off, strangled, his emotions in a maelstrom that closed around Obi-Wan, for a moment.

But he had experience fighting his way free of such things. “Well,” he panted, every inch of him singing with sweet relief, “have me, then.”

And Cody cried out, a sharp sound, fucking in hard, perfect, knot swelling a moment later, tying them together.

#

They curled together there, in the shrouding glow of pleasure and relief. Cody lingered by his throat, brushing kisses to his skin, while Obi-Wan mapped his body with cautious hands. It felt… different. Knowing he could have this forever.

Obi-Wan felt overfull of things that maybe he needed to say, but he couldn’t quite find a way to voice them. It made more sense to bare his neck, to shiver when Cody pushed up on one arm, dragging his other hand down Obi-Wan’s chest, to his stomach, fingers fanning out.

There was something pleased in his expression, something that ratched the heat higher in Obi-Wan’s blood. He wondered, distantly, it Cody had  _ always  _ wanted to get a child on him, if he’d spent the last three years  _ wanting _ , and--

And he needed, abruptly, to be kissing Cody. He reached up, grabbing Cody’s shoulders, pulling himself up off of the bed. Cody made a surprised sound, curling an arm around him to support his weight, and then Obi-Wan was kissing him, deep and desperate, fireworks going off inside his chest. “I dream about you,” Obi-Wan gasped, between kisses, finding the words he’d been looking for, “about being with you, all the time, not just at my heats, I--”

Cody made an inarticulate sound, rocking back onto his heels, settling Obi-Wan across his hips, putting both hands in Obi-Wan’s hair and kissing him. “I want that,” Obi-Wan continued, desperately, not sure if he’d gotten his point across, not sure about much of anything except that Cody  _ loved him _ , that Cody had helped him through - through  _ five  _ heats, stood with him through a war, been ever at his side. “I want  _ you _ .” He gasped, his heart aching.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Cody groaned.

His knot was starting to go down, Obi-Wan could feel it, even as he panted, the words escaping in a rush, “I _ love you _ .”

Cody almost sobbed, kissing him hard, even as Obi-Wan shifted against him, rising just for the pleasure of falling into him again, Cody’s arms wrapped around him, strong and sure as gravity. Obi-Wan could not stop kissing him, gasping senseless words into the hot air all around them.

It didn’t seem real. He was almost entirely sure he  _ was  _ dreaming, again, but his dreams never left him feeling so good. Cody lit him up inside, always had, and Obi-Wan finally had to give over kissing him, tilting his face skyward as his spine turned all to liquid heat, all the muscles in his back and thighs shifting as Cody sucked kisses into his throat, working a hand between them, finally.

Obi-Wan spilled all over them both, crying out and losing his coordination, but that hardly seemed to matter. Not with Cody falling forward, bearing him down to the sheets, fucking him hard and sweet and deep and--

And Obi-Wan gripped both sides of Cody’s head, pulling him close to kiss him, desperately, as his knot swelled.

#

Obi-Wan skipped all the meetings he had planned for the day. They could do without him, he decided, after the fourth time they tangled together, his heat fading down. He sprawled atop Cody’s body, trailing fingertips up and down his skin, over scars and muscle, and let himself just breathe.

They spoke, in quiet voices, for hours. Obi-Wan could still not quite believe that it was all true, but Cody’s affection and love curled around him, close and tight. And so, when Cody asked more questions about Satine, he tried to answer, and he kept answering, as Cody dug into other pieces of his past, all the wounds that had never healed quite right.

Cody swore, eventually, pulling him closer, kissing him hard and deep, promising with a gutted tone to his voice, “Listen to me, I’m not leaving you. Not ever, if I can help it, Obi-Wan. Do you hear me?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, and Cody made a little sound, half-pained, and kissed him until Obi-Wan almost forgot how to breathe, just melting against him, his jaw aching a bit and his chest overfull.

When they did leave his quarters, it was just to visit Dal-Voe, who chattered excitedly about everything, the horror of her experience with Dooku already fading into her distant memory. And when they came back, Obi-Wan pulled Cody close as soon as they were through the door, confident that Cody wanted it, just as much as he did. 

Cody groaned against his mouth, pulling him closer and Obi-Wan wasn’t burning under his skin, as Cody pulled his clothes off, radiating want and affection. His heat had passed, leaving only a few pleasant aches behind, but, oh, he found it didn’t matter.

Desire sparked in his gut and spread as he slid his hands up Cody’s back, peeling his shirt off, tossing it away. They stumbled together, drunk on touching, desperate to be closer all at once. Their bed was only a room away, but that felt like an impossible distance.

Obi-Wan choked on a cry when Cody pressed him against the wall, right beside the door, like he couldn’t bear to go any further, like he’d been restraining himself for years and only finally realized he didn’t have to anymore. Obi-Wan was tender, but oh, it was a good ache, he wanted to feel it every day for the rest of his life, holding on and crying out, orgasm sweeping through him in a sweet, heady wave.

He laughed, half-breathless, when Cody staggered back, afterward, sinking down onto the couch and sliding his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hair. It felt good to just kiss him, Cody’s arms sure as gravity around him as they murmured to one another, plans for the next day and halting promises.

#

Cody slept with him, that night, curled close behind him after they ate and showered and - and  _ made love _ again, a term Obi-Wan had never had any reason to use in relation to anything he had done. Obi-Wan did not fall immediately to sleep, running his fingers over the back of Cody’s hand, pressed to his stomach.

They had more to discuss, he knew that. The world needed put back together. But… it didn’t seem so insurmountable a task, with Cody breathing against his shoulder.

The rest of the world could wait until morning. He closed his eyes, sank back, and did not have to only dream that he was loved.


	10. Chapter 10

The world did not stop feeling like a dream right away. It took time for Obi-Wan to process the way everything had changed; so much had happened all at once. The end of the war, the slow spread of hard won peace, and Cody’s steady, all-encompassing affection. 

The changes did not feel truly real, yet, by the time they finalized the plans for expanding the Temple, for adding a new chapter to the Order, bringing in all of the troopers who so desired to join them.

Not all of the troopers wanted to remain with the Order, though a significant portion of the 212th stayed. Others joined the reduced GAR. Still others lit out across the stars, building a life wheresoever they chose.

Many they had to contact again, in the coming months, as they discovered the control chips left by the Kaminoans and the full extent of Palpatine’s depravity. Obi-Wan’s gut ached, sharp and bitter, the entire time Cody was in the hands of the healers, but he returned with only another scar - small - and without anything foreign inside his mind.

Obi-Wan still felt, sometimes, that he was dreaming by the time he bore a son. Kei-Donn came into the world in the middle of the night, in the healers’ halls, while Obi-Wan rested back against Cody’s chest and shivered with relief as his son was placed in his arms.

He’d imagined a child with dark eyes, but Kei-Donn was the only one of his children to get his eyes; the exact shade of blue, startlingly bright with his dark hair and skin. And everything felt like a dream, one of the sweet imaginings that he’d tried not to indulge in, as Cody wept against his shoulder and trailed gentle fingers over their son’s face.

Reality did not click into place when Obi-Wan returned from a mission to find Dal-Voe carrying her younger brother around, supporting his weight more with the Force than her arms, showing him all the places they’d play when he was big enough. 

He still thought, sometimes, that he’d wake up back in the war by the time Anakin brought his children to the Temple, a fair-haired boy and a dark-haired girl, both of them aglow in the Force. Anakin felt...calmer. At peace in a way Obi-Wan had never known him, and they spoke of the past like it was a distant land.

Anakin visited the  _ Negotiator _ , up in orbit, during his visit. The Senate had decided to make her a museum, a testament to the war, and Obi-Wan liked that she was constantly full of life and people, that she was not abandoned and left to fall to disrepair. 

He took Cody to Jedha, with many of his brothers, and that felt unreal, too. He watched Cody talk to a pair of young men about the Order they served, and looked out across the vibrant marketplace, and for a moment he saw something else, ruin and destruction, an echo of something that had not happened, but could have, that left a shiver in his spine.

Obi-Wan braced for everything to fall apart, sometimes, even years later, when Ahsoka was Knighted, her arms tight around his shoulders and her Padawan beads curled against his palm. She rubbed her cheek against his, before she pulled back, and his chest ached with a hundred old pains and with sweet relief.

He’d lost a daughter, so long ago, but Ahsoka was a daughter of his heart, and he held her tightly, his eyes burning with affection and pride.

There was no grand event that finally did away with the sense that, perhaps, he was dreaming, that perhaps all that they’d gained would be swept away. He simply woke up one morning at the Temple, sunlight streaming through the windows, Cody curled close at his back, and everything felt impossibly  _ real. _

His breath caught, barely audible, but enough to make Cody stir around, to make him murmur softly, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan said, aching with the realization that it was  _ true _ . Oh, there were problems, little fires to put out, the galaxy was not and would never be perfect. But - but they were not drowning, struggling to keep going with every single breath. He gasped, realization settling through him. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Mm,” Cody said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and then another to his neck. “Well, in that case…” and Obi-Wan snorted a laugh when Cody rolled, hauling him along, so he sprawled across Cody’s chest.

“Do you know,” Obi-Wan said, enjoying the press of skin to skin, the warmth of their blankets, and the pleased smile sitting on Cody’s mouth. "I love you."

“How lucky,” Cody said, sliding a hand into his hair and tugging him closer, kissing him slow and easy. And Obi-Wan melted into it, took his time, for they were in no hurry, no rush, no pressure to do anything but tangle in their bed and breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are here at the end, thank you again for reading! You can find me over on tumblr, if you so desire, at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hearts Dream of Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770537) by [lucy_is_a_rocketship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_is_a_rocketship/pseuds/lucy_is_a_rocketship)




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